


Fever

by Creme13rulee



Series: Fever/Whimper Duology [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Almost Everyone - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Relationship, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Dating, Everyone still skates, Fake Science, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mild Gore, Missing Persons, Multi, Mutual Pining, OTP Feels, Oral Sex, POV Katsuki Yuuri, POV Phichit Chulanont, POV Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont Is a Good Friend, Phichit Chulanont is a Little Shit, Pining, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Pre-med Student Phichit, Protective Victor Nikiforov, Science Werewolves, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Sex, Strangers to Lovers, THERES FLUFF I SWEAR, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Victor is a foodie, Werewolf Biology, Wolves of Mercy Falls, be prepared to cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-11-13 04:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 31,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creme13rulee/pseuds/Creme13rulee
Summary: Inspired by The Wolves of Mercy Falls Trilogy (Shiver/Linger/Forever) by Maggie Stiefvater.When Yuuri Katsuki moved to a small town in Michigan, he expected to  finish college while training under Celestino Cialdini. Instead, he gets lost in the dead of winter with a raging fever-- one so strong that he doesn’t fight back when three wolves drag him into a snowbank. Delirium so heavy that when Yuuri wakes up in the hospital, all he remembers are blue eyes. No pain-- only human blue eyes and silver fur.  Eyes so much like Yuuri’s disappeared idol.  Eyes that watch , waiting for a change.Banner arthttps://twitter.com/boredBaph/status/1104188276439683072Fic arthttp://anonbaph.tumblr.com/post/183323210914/this-is-my-work-for-viktuurifluffbang-itsPart of Victuuri Fluff Bang.  Art by Baph <3Part 1 is complete, updating  through April??





	1. Yuuri

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Baph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baph/gifts).



>   
> Playlist: https://tinyurl.com/y3b6ocaf
> 
> Fic art: http://anonbaph.tumblr.com/post/183323210914/this-is-my-work-for-viktuurifluffbang-its

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri

18 °F -7 C

 

It didn’t hurt, really.

Or maybe it was just that I had spent all day feeling terrible… that this added only a small fraction to it.

I had been stupid. It was freezing outside, and it was after five. It was pitch black, and no one wanted to be outside. Where I was. Everyone stayed inside, where central heating and family kept them warm.

My family was a 15 hour flight away. 

But the warmth came from hot tongues and teeth, pressing into my body. Tearing into it-- the rush of blood made me feel even warmer. It didn’t hurt, but it was unpleasant. I was already too hot-- my bangs sticking to my forehead, pasted down with sweat. My vision swam, the black and grey and white whirling together into a meaningless blob of colors.

I should have told Ciao Ciao I wasn’t feeling well.

Then maybe I wouldn’t be lying in a snowbank in someone’s front yard, getting devoured.  
Maybe I would have fought back.

Instead, I felt the fabric rip and buttons pop off of the wool jacket my mom bought me 6 months ago, before seeing me off to study in a far away and foreign country. I felt the snow melt and soak into the fabric, as strains of the Tchaikovsky track Ciao Ciao picked for me played through my headphones. The sky was dark, the air thick with the scent of earth, pine needles and musk-- wild, pungent. Wolf.  
Wolves didn’t exist in Japan. When I was eight, a wild boar ran around downtown. We had to stay in our classrooms, even after school was over for the day. One of my classmates cried.

Tanamura-- the old man who owned the Suzuki dealership in Hasetsu-- shot it. He took it home and ate pork for a week.

Until now, that was my closest experience with wild animals. 

Unlike then, I couldn’t close my eyes. I didn’t tune anything out--- if anything, the world was the one tuning me out of it.

My hand curled instinctively at a wet nose pressing against my palm. It was too big to be Vicchan, but my head moved to look anyway.  
My glasses fogged up with a cloud of frozen breath, my own mixing in with the hot breath of wolves.

It was silver. Bright and shining, the wolf didn’t look real. The three that were making a meal of my body were grey, dark. This wolf shined like the snow behind it, brilliant even in the winter night.  
But his eyes… his eyes were blue. Not artic blue-- a clear, almost greenish blue. Like the sea glass my sister and I collected along the beach when helping out at the onsen got boring.

Did wolves have eyes like that? Like…

“Viktor…”


	2. Viktor

**18 °F -7 C**   
**Viktor**

 

He said my name.

He said my name, and I knew it. I knew it in this form, the one I chose to escape this name.

But oh, how beautiful it sounded coming from his lips.

I was starving. We were so hungry, the woods empty and bare of food. We were driven to scavenge, eat from trash.

Georgi had been desperate enough to hunt.  
It felt wrong, even with the hunger gnawing and banging against my ribs. It felt wrong to tear at a body that lay there willingly.

That looked back.  
That said my name.  
His fingers cupped around my nose. He smelled like sweat and leather and softness. He felt so warm.

Without knowing myself, I snarled. I bit and snapped until Georgi and Liam backed off. Mila stayed, until I pushed her off, growling. They slunk away, back into the edge of the woods that usually protected us.

I couldn’t just leave him there, bleeding and broken. Dying.

I stepped back. His eyes followed me. I crept back to the safety of the woods, hidden away.

I couldn’t watch him die, but I couldn’t sacrifice myself either.

I lifted my head, using what little left I had of my human consciousness left to mold the howl into a scream.


	3. Phichit

**Phichit**

 

**24F -4C**

 

The only thing worse than not hearing from your best friend, Yuuri---the kind of guy to leave two hours early to a place that's only 30 minutes away-- is answering a call from your best friend and instead talking to   _ Kevin Jones, Detective at the South Detroit  Police Precinct. _

Apparently, Ciao Ciao only uses Whatsapp, and I am the only US-based phone number in Yuuri’s phone. I know this because I’m the one who put it there.  It was the first night Yuuri spent in Detroit, and the day we became best friends. It sounds stupid when I say it like that, like it happened instantly-- that I’m friends with everyone I meet with.

But Yuuri’s special.

 

For one, there was finally someone who’d understand being an _international student._ Ciao Ciao told me that Yuuri was older, and from Japan-- somewhere I’ve never been before. He was tired when he finally showed up to the apartment-- Yuuri can _never_ hide being tired-- but then he pulled out the curry from his suitcase. Along with a bag of Japanese rice. Any other part of Celestino’s team would scoff. After all-- Ciao Ciao’s idea of good rice is a box of _microwave minute rice._  My mother would hear the word _microwave_ and be scandalized by that alone. Yuuri cooked dinner for me, and when I offered to play _The King and The Skater_ while we ate, he watched the entire thing. He didn’t nod off once, keeping his bowl of honey-apple curry balanced on his knees and his eyes trained on my laptop screen.

 

For two, you cannot meet Yuuri Katsuki and not love him.  Meka loves Yuuri because of his Snacks. No matter the hour or location, Yuuri always has snacks on his person and is always ready to share. Kylee loves Yuuri because even though he looks like a total nerd, he knows how to party. You’d expect him to sit in the corner of a college party petting the dog… but after a few drinks, Yuuri will be pants-free dancing with the dog  _ and  _ managing to make half the party question their sexuality at the same time. 

Ciao Ciao loves Yuuri because he does exactly what he says, and he doesn’t text on the ice or talk about Instagram instead of practicing his step sequences.

 

I love Yuuri because when you talk, he listens.

 

I wish I had listened to him last night.

 

I wish I had heard him complain about his headache, noticed something about his sniffling. Anything. I’d give anything to hear his voice on the other line, instead of hearing  _ Kevin  _ explain that Yuuri was in the hospital, and I was the only one they could reach.  Someone reported screaming in the neighborhood five blocks from home. The police showed up-- and found Yuuri, laying in the snow,  _ injured. _

  
  



	4. Yuuri

Yuuri

27F -3C

When I woke up, I didn’t feel much of anything. I don’t think it hurt, but the world still felt far away, behind a layer of clouds.  
I’m awake, but it is too hot. My skin itches, and my body shakes and fights to break out of it. I can feel the sweat drip down the side of my face, but not the stitches holding my stomach and chest together. I can hear Phichit babbling on, telling me something about my classes, then something about our favorite movie. Celestino is in the room too, somewhere, talking about taking it easy, not worrying about next season.

I hear them, but all I can see are blue eyes.


	5. Phichit

Phichit  
27F 

Hearing about Yuuri was pretty bad, but seeing him is even worse. His eyes are far away, and though I can tell he’s trying to listen, he just can’t process. He’s still coming off the anesthetic. The doctor said the wounds were pretty superficial, but widespread. They put him a full brace just so he won’t pull at the stitches keeping him together. Celestino’s already arranged to bring Yuuri back for his third and fourth rabies vaccines. They’ve already told us that Yuuri will have to stay until his fever is gone, and that he will likely be hospitalized beyond three days, when he’d have his second dose.

I’m a nervous talker. While Yuuri just clams up, or runs away, I babble. I tell Yuuri that I’ll email all his professors, and then I go on about our favorite movie. It doesn’t have to do with anything, other than I said “Yuuri, this is starting to feel like a movie drama” and I couldn’t stop after I started. 

I know they gave him fever reducers and a cooling blanket, but I take some paper towels from the bathroom and dab at Yuuri’s face. He smiles softly when I start doing it, but he hasn’t said a word. Guilt pools in my gut-- my Yuuri would be freaking out right now. If he’s this… calm… he is really sick. I should have noticed. We spend most of our time together, except when Yuuri has class or the occasional introvert recharge.  
I try to make up for it by paying closer attention. I feed him spoonfulls of ice chips when a nurse comes buy with a paper cup full of them. I watch him let them melt in his mouth, his eyelids heavy and cheeks flushed. 

My throat feels thick when I hear Ciao Ciao finally get through to Yuuri’s parents. Celestino is very good at putting the fear of god in you with his voice. But I guess having a student being attacked by wolves isn’t a usual coaching situation. He sounds nervous and...scared. He apologizes over and over. I forget sometimes that Yuuri-- and I-- are in Celestino’s care. He’s the reason why we will graduate from Michigan instead of a university in our home countries. He’s our keeper, even though he hasn’t spoken to Yuuri since we got here.

Yuuri brings me back from zoning out by moving his fingers. He curls them into his palm, one by one, before relaxing them. He does it with both hands, but one has the oxygen monitor taped to it, and he moves like it weighs fifty pounds.

“Good morning beautiful,” I scoop another spoonful of ice.

I nearly drop it when I hear Yuuri talk.

“Viktor…” He hums. His hands tremble-- he’s had tremors off an on for the past few hours. Now, he’s hallucinating too.

“Sure… World-champion, love of your little gay life, Viktor Nikiforov. Say ‘ah’” Yuuri opens his mouth obediently. He finally graduates to chewing on the ice. He starts muttering something in Japanese. I know basic greetings and all the dirty words Yuuri would give me, but not enough to understand him.

“Viktor.” Yuuri says again, his shaking hands pressing against my cheeks. He squishes my face together until my lips purse into a fish-face. I smile at him through it, before his hands drop. His face crumples in pain, his teeth grinding.

“Yuuri? Holy shit, Yuuri!” I drop the cup of ice and push the nurse call button five times in a row. He looks like he’s seizing, until all of a sudden, he’s not. It passes before the nurses rush in. 

“He… I… It looked like he was having a seizure.” I mumble. They look at the machines, and they order another round of medication I haven’t learned about yet.

The new meds make him even drowsier. He’s asleep when I leave, and asleep when I come back the next morning. I watch them give his second dose of Rabies vaccine to a sleeping beauty. He doesn’t come back to lucidity until his fever breaks on the third day.

It doesn’t look like he’s going home anytime soon.

Maybe it’s for the best. After all, he’s hallucinating about a man that has been missing for years...


	6. Yuuri

Yuuri  
32 F 0C

I ended up spending a week in the hospital. Even when I get home, it doesn’t feel any different. I might as well still be in the hospital with the amount of privacy I get. I can’t bend over without pulling stitches. The bandages keep me from doing it anyway. Phichit ends up skipping classes too. He hovers constantly, like I am going to pass out onto a bloody snowbank at any second. I haven’t been alone since… since the wolves.  
I can’t skate. I can’t walk to class or even to the cafeteria without being followed. Celestino makes me text him every hour to check in, and every twenty minutes if I leave the house. I have to text Mari too, at the request of mom. Even though I talked to her two nights ago, and apparently Celestino called her while I was still out of it. I usually only call home once a week, every two weeks when I get busy. I don’t have a lot to say, and my parents don’t either. Yuutopia stays the same, and my parent’s understanding of my skating regimen depends on Minako being there to explain it. They know enough to tell if I win, or if they’ll need to tell me ‘ You did your best. Better luck next time’.  
Except now, they won’t even do that. Celestino withdrew me from Nationals before I even graduated from the morphine drip in the hospital. It hurts to lift my arms, and the force from landing even a double axel could put me back in the hospital. I’m lucky to be alive. I know it, because the doctors told me, Kevin-the-policeman told me, the local news anchor told me too.  
Another centimeter and the wolves would’ve gotten my small intestines, and I would’ve gone septic and died. Another minute and they would’ve torn into the muscle and ended my career. I was torn apart, but nothing important was lost.  
I was lucky, even though no one knows why. The evening news keeps asking:

Why me?  
Why wolves?  
Why in the middle of residential Detroit, a mile outside of the woods?

I want to tell them: I’m not special. I was there, I was slow and easy prey. They were hungry, and I was an easy meal.

I want to know :why do I keep seeing blue, human eyes in a snow-white wolf?


	7. Yuuri- Art by Baph

**Yuuri**

**37 F 3C**

 

I manage to last another day before going stir-crazy. I listened to Celestino and rested. I’ve let Phichit bring me food and show me dog videos on Youtube. But it’s been three days since I was released from the hospital: I need to be alone. I need to go somewhere without someone following me to make sure I don’t disappear into another snowbank.

The perfect chance comes when Phichit comes back from class. He rushed back, but he is obviously frazzled by a deadline or something that came up in class.

 

“I’m going to the 7-11 and getting a coffee,” I say, stopping by the bedroom on my way out. I already put on my snow boots, coat and hat-- robbing Phichit of the chance of talking me out of it while I get ready.

 

“Okay!” He sings in response, like he has for the hundreds of times this has happened before. By the time I hear him call out for me, I’m already out the door.

There’s a 7-11 a block from the apartment, but there’s another store five blocks away, kitty corner from the student union building.  I’ll text Phichit in a few minutes-- reassure him I’m not dead (or nearly) but I won’t hurry either. The air is sharp with cold. Even though it’s warmer than it has been, it’s cold enough to burn in my lungs. It’s fresh (well...as fresh as the residential part of a city can get) and I don’t really want to go back inside yet. I take my time, walking through the neighborhood connecting Phichit and I’s apartment to the rest of the city. I don’t even notice the smell of the pine needles underlying old gasoline until something flashes in the corner of my eye.

 

I’m by the woods again.

 

They’re not really woods-- not like back home in Hasetsu. There’s no mountain to climb up, and the trees are an entirely different kind.

 

Hasetsu doesn’t have wolves either.

 

Or, at least, I think its a wolf.

The flash of white was quick, but enough that my heart starts to beat fast. I can hear blood rushing through my ears, my eyes trained on the line of trees as I take another step. I walk, until I near the end of his corner of the woods.

 

I see him.

 

Or her. I can’t tell. I don’t want to. I just know that it’s the one. The one who stopped the rest of them from eating me.

I can feel the ghost of his warm nose and muzzle against my palm. My fingers curl into it, and the blood in my ears is too loud, and my chest squeezes.

 

I’m terrified. My body is screaming. It’s hard to breathe, static roaring in my ears. Distantly,  I feel my knees hitting the asphalt as I slip on half-melted ice and collapse onto the sidewalk.

He’s staring right at me, his eyes bluer than I remember. Then the memory I can’t get out of my head: Wolves surrounding me and pinning me down, teeth ripping at my skin. Something in the back at my mind screams  _ look away, look down _ . Are you supposed to look wild animals in the eye, or pretend to be dead? (Not that worked for me the last time…)

 

The snow-white wolf creeps from the woods, gracefully and slow enough that he looks like he is floating.

My head starts to swim, and I feel like I’m floating too-- lightheaded from the panic taking over my still healing body. I can’t move-- I don’t want to move --when he leaves the cover of the trees and places a paw on the sidewalk.  The cloud of his breath brushes my cheek. I can smell him, somehow, earthy and a sweet almond note. A bit of Vicchan’s fur, but far more wild and pungent. 

I remember it, from that night.

 

I’m so stupid. I’m going to die, the same way as before. All because I wanted a coffee and a walk and I was so tired and frustrated. I can’t even move or run. I’m even more useless than I was when I was sick and delirious.

 

But he doesn’t bite me.  He steps closer until he’s right on top of me. His face rubs against mine, almost as if he’s trying to dry the tears from my cheeks. 

Wolves are huge.  Sitting, my face only reaches his shoulder. He’s low on his legs in order to nuzzle me.

My breath comes in a shudder. He protected me then. He’s comforting me now. Somehow, my fingers find his fur. Underneath it he is pure muscle and heat. And he’s quiet. He doesn’t growl or snarl. The only sounds are his breathing and the ragged hiccups of my own.

I can feel the wave of panic subsiding. He sits there, waiting, letting me hold him until I let go. I can hear to hum of a car’s engine from down the street. He disappears into the woods as quietly as he came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some love for Baphs art here: http://anonbaph.tumblr.com/post/183323210914/this-is-my-work-for-viktuurifluffbang-its


	8. Yuuri-Discovery

Yuuri   
35 F 2C

“I can do it, it’ll take five minutes, I swear,” I say before Phichit can get any more fidgety. It is my fault-- the nurse trained me to change my dressings. Phichit held it together great in the hospital, but at home? Not so much. The mere sight of the garbage can is enough to make him on edge, like he’s in a practical exam with his scholarship on the line. The shame of yesterday's trip to 7-11 still creeps on my back. I didn’t even follow my plan. I stood, waiting at the edge of the woods for my wolf to come back.

He didn’t, and Phichit called, worried. I ended up spending all of two minutes at the convenience store closest to the apartment, buying a coffee and an alibi. I ended up giving both to Phichit before going to hide in my room. I could still smell my wolf on my fingers.

“I did it yesterday. I can do it now.” Phichit waved me off, again. Something snaps in me.

“Let me do it!” I yelled, loud enough for Phichit to flinch. I immediately feel bad, but I’ve had enough. I’m tired of being treated like I’m going to die at any moment. The garbage bag only has gauze and medical tape and an empty Gatorade bottle, but it's enough to affect Phichit and I’m tired of it. I snatch the bag up, shove my feet into my boots and step carefully outside to the communal dumpster.

I notice the smell even before I turn the corner of the building. It stinks of garbage-- and for good reason. Plastic bags are scattered everywhere, covering the entire driveway leading up to the chipped metal dumpster.  
I feel bad for yelling at Phichit, but I am glad I didn’t let him do it. Among the piles of paper towels and foil wrapping are my old bandages. Stained with blood and pus, the tape and gauze tangled and trailing from bags like a worm. It looks like an animal has torn apart the bags, searching for a piece of meat. Whatever it was that did it clued in pretty fast. There’s no wolves, raccoons, or dogs in sight. I stomp my way to the dumpster anyway, just to make sure.  
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see it--

I see him.

White, pale skin. Silver hair. My heart freezes, and I feel like I’ll die again-- from the panic of finding a dead body not even two weeks after my ‘mysterious attack’. But then he moves, and he’s obviously not dead, but very naked. Naked in the middle of the winter in Detroit. Either he is on some really good drugs, or he’s in trouble. I need to help him.  
I’m busy enough freaking out that I don’t consciously think it--- the silver hair-- Viktor-- The Viktor Nikiforov, who has been missing for 3 years after attending an ice show in the States. I don’t think of it, even though I’d know that shade of hair anywhere. I’ve only idolized him since I was twelve. He’s only the reason why I started skating, why I’m in Detroit in the first place.  
I don’t even think about how crazy it is that he’s naked.

I just see blue-green eyes and I freeze.  
The air is cold, cutting me. Heavy with the scent of wolf.


	9. Victor--the wolf

**Viktor**

**35F  2C**

 

I know where I am, but I don’t know why I am there. Why I have the vague awareness of fingers, and why my toes feel soft, burning in the cold of the frozen ground.

I’ve been watching. Waiting.  

I expected him to turn-- like I did. Like Chris did.

 

Instead, I come into my thoughts sitting next to a dumpster and surrounded by garbage I can still taste in my mouth.

 

My mind is not quite human enough to form words when he finds me.  He has a thick winter coat and snow boots on.

It’s cold.

I shouldn’t be human.

 

But I am, and so is he.

 

The snow angel.

I know it's him-- the scent of him aligns perfectly with the memory. The memory aligns with the bandages and the bandages with him.  The same scent that allowed me to find him, and find him again and again while I waited.

But its the dead of winter, and he’s freshly bitten. He shouldn’t be holding onto his humanity with so much ease. He doesn’t even look nauseous-- just scared. Just worried. He startles when I look up, and I know why.

 

When I’m a wolf, I lose myself. My human thoughts, my capacity for words. The only thing you get to keep when you are a wolf is your eyes.

 

I remember the angel in the snow looking directly into mine. I remember his brown eyes, the same soft color that stare at me now.

 

Why didn’t he join me? I saved him, didn’t I?

 

“You have to get inside-- you’ll get frostbite,” he babbles. His voice is like music. He moves stiffly, taking off his jacket and draping around my shoulders. I let him help me to my feet.

 

“What’s your name?” He asks, and that comes easily. 

 

“Viktor.”

 

His hands shake like he’s the one shivering. I worry for a second that he is-- but his teeth don’t chatter. He takes my hand and pulls me toward the front of the building-- inside.  Pain shoots up like sparks into my bones with each step, but it doesn’t matter.

“Your name?” My lips manage to form the words as the man pushes a door open hard enough that it bounces back and hits his shoulder.

 

“Ka--- Yuuri. You can call me Yuuri,” he stutters, grimacing in pain. 

 

“Holy shit, is that Viktor Nikiforov?” A new voice from inside the apartment gasps. My name precedes me.  No one has commented on my nakedness or random appearance two states away from where I disappeared. It’s a little flattering, to be honest. It’s been almost three summers since I met Liam, and these strangers still know me by name.

 

“I’m going to start a bath. Go---go find me some clothes?” Yuuri stutters.  His roommate nods unquestioningly, as if finding a naked man in your backyard is an everyday thing.

 

“Should we call the police?” the roommate calls from the bedroom-- it’s a small apartment, so he doesn’t have to try that hard to be heard.

 

“No!” I say it a little too forcefully. Yuuri turns to look at me, worried. “I’m fine. I…. Clothes would be nice.” I add, trying to even my tone.

If it was anyone else, I could leave it at not wanting to be found. But not only do they know me-- it’s the boy in the snow.  He deserves to know. He needs to know what will happen to him. Unlike me, he didn’t choose this.

 

“I’m sure Yuuri wouldn’t mind you—“ the roommate grins catlike before Yuuri growls “Phichit!”— what I can only assume to be roommates name. 

 

“This is crazy. People were looking for you for  _ years _ !” Phichit says it with some reverence. It’s hard to look for people who don’t want to be found.

Especially ones who spend half the year in another species body. 

 

“Clothes, Peach!” Yuuri's voice comes from the bathroom, over the sound of running water. I don’t remember the last time I had a bath. September?

 

“What month is it?” I ask, when Phichit comes back with a collegiate t-shirt, sweatpants, and an old Skate America sweatshirt. They will all look ridiculously short on me, but it is still the dead of winter and I am cold. Cold and impossibly human. 

 

“January. Late January,” Phichit says it in a way that he seems to be worried about my sanity. Once I explain to him why I’m here, he will definitely be questioning it. 

“Oh.” A knot forms in my throat. It really is the dead of winter. After three years, my changing has evened out. I don’t change at the slightest temperature shift. I’m young, so I usually make it to The end of October before a cold snap did me in. The older wolves disappear at the first sign of fall, before they stop coming back in the spring altogether. 

 

It seemed like a good idea at the time. A slow suicide where you don’t really die—- you just take on a wilder, freer form. 

 

Watching Yuuri, I’m not so sure. 

 

He has a friend. More than one, probably. He lives with one. He’s still in college and feels like he has a future in front of him. 

 

Liam made sure I wanted to do this. Did anyone ask Yuuri?

 

“Don’t put it on yet, you have to warm up first.” Phichit doesn’t seem the slightest bit shy of my nakedness (minus Yuuri's coat. It smells nice, like coffee grounds and humanity.)

 

Yuuri comes back and grabs my wrist, pulling me to the bathroom. The door slams shut behind us, and beyond it Phichit whistles a catcall. 

 

“You’re a wolf.” The words tumble out of Yuuri's mouth and into the floor. 

 

Instead of denying it, I smile. 


	10. Yuuri- My wolf

**Yuuri**

 

**34F  1C**

 

“You’re a wolf.” 

 

Before I have time to regret it, Viktor smiles. It isn’t even an “Oh, you are high on something honey?” smile. It isn’t the one he wore on the ice. 

He looks… relieved. 

 

“How could you tell?” He says as he eases into the water, pulling in a breath when the hot water sucks at his skin. 

 

“I—I…” I stutter. I don’t want to say I don’t know. Because I do know. 

I just don’t want to think about it. 

 

“You smell like my wolf.”

 

Viktors head jerks up at that, his gaze achingly soft and.. flattered. 

 

“Your… wolf?” he says it like he wants to hear it again. 

 

“A wolf. The wolf who saved me. “ I feel my cheeks burning, I want to run out but the door is pressing into the back and I need to know. “I was attacked, and they were biting me. Except for one. White, with blue eyes .”

 

“It’s been a rough winter.” Is all Viktor says. I squint at him, before finally noticing. How his ribs stick out. How sharp his cheekbones are. 

 

“You’re not telling me I’m crazy,” I huff in disbelief. 

 

“You’re not. You’re completely right. But I’m not surprised, considering you’re one of us now.”

 

“What?”  He’s the one who sounds crazy now. “One of you? I skate, but I don’t plan on disappearing anytime soon.”

I haven’t felt great, but I definitely haven’t become a wolf. I couldn’t--- I don’t want to leave Phichit behind.  If I was meant to be a wolf, I would be out in the woods with Viktor. Something tells me that he isn’t supposed to be human right now.

 

His eyes take on a tragic cast to them before he looks up, his perfectly straight eyebrows furrowed. “You haven’t changed yet?”

 

“My clothes? Yes. My bandages? Yeah, and now they’re all over. Into a wolf? No,”  I growl. Viktor’s eyes roll, and he looks like he’s about to pull out his hair. 

“You were supposed to change,”  Viktor breaths. He stares at his hands, which are floating just under the surface of the water, the fingertips flushed red. He’s too tall for our cheap apartment bathtub, so he’s sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. 

 

It’s Viktor. Viktor Nikiforov.

 

It’s too much.

 

“I-I gotta go.” I manage to stutter before I struggle with the door handle and scramble out of the room. Phichit’s not going to leave me alone. Not with Viktor here and not after what happened two weeks ago.  So I run. I don’t even see the front door, but I hear it slam behind me, my lungs squeezing and burning with fear and the cold.

 

Viktor is here. Viktor is my wolf.


	11. Viktor- An Escape

**Viktor**

 

**67 F  19C (Inside)**

 

It doesn’t make any sense. Before I can even get the crazy looks, denial, anything! Yuuri talks about it. I don’t have to explain the core concept, which is the one most people have the most trouble with.

 

I was one of those people.

 

When Liam approached me, I thought he was a strange American, on some good drugs. But I was low enough that I wanted some of those drugs, just so I could feel something again.

 

Instead, he offered me an escape.  A new life without the unholiness of suicide, losing yourself without the pierce of a needle or the inevitable crash of drugs. Pretty good deal, right?

 

The summers after Liam have been easy enough. He hasn’t changed back-- but he warned us of that.  He made sure there was somewhere to go back to, clothes to slip in to. No one in the backwater town where home is knows who I am.  I’d be surprised if there is a rink within two hours drive of where I spend my time in human skin. 

 

I thought about going back. I really did. But what is the point of Viktor Nikiforov, World Champion Ice Skater off-season? I had taken Liam up to escape from the pressure of it all. I ended up losing myself entirely.

 

But now-- Yuuri, this beautiful Yuuri. He didn’t change. Maybe he means hope for me too.

 

He still isn’t back when I crawl out of the tub and pull on the clothing he dropped into a pile on the floor. The sleeves and pant legs are a few inches too short, but they’re better fitting than anything I’ve worn for the past year. 

The roommate watches me from the kitchen, staring coldly over the lip of a mug of tea. The linoleum flooring is peeling up in the corners, and the decor of the whole place belongs in the seventies.

 

I can’t go after Yuuri.  He’s not in the main room, which means he is outside. Outside is cold-- too cold for me to hold onto my humanity.  Why I even hold it is bewildering. There’s snow on the ground. Not even the youngest wolves survive the snow.

 

Except for Yuuri.

 

I clear my throat.  My hands fold behind my back. Phichit puts his weight on one leg, cocking his hip to the side, his head tilting ever so slightly.  There is sass without a single word.

 

“What did you do to my son,”  Phichit says. It’s a statement, not a question. 

 

“You don’t look old enough to be his father,” I blurt out, before bowing my head. I showed up naked in his house-- I should be way more considerate, but I lost my people skills somewhere off in the woods.

 

“Yuuri is my best friend, and he is terribly pure. I don’t need international drama ruining him.”

 

I let a laugh escape my lips. “I promise, I won’t ruin him.”

 

Phichit’s eyebrows shoot up into his perfectly straight bangs. “That sounds like a boyfriend thing.”

 

“I-- it's not. We just met. By the dumpster.” I wince. This isn’t going very well.

 

“Did your kidnappers drop you off there?” He sounds more concerned now. He sets down his mug, and I notice for the first time that there are two other mugs of tea brewing on the counter.

 

“... In a way.” I edge out, sitting on the edge of the couch. It’s hideous, but softer than any couch I have touched before.

 

“He’s loved you since he was twelve. Yuuri. He was a mess when you disappeared. I just… I don’t get why you’re  _ here.” _ Phichit moves his chin out at the last word.

 

“I know the wolves.” Best to start with something mild. We can work up to werewolves later.

 

Phichit’s eyes narrow.  “The ones that almost killed Yuuri? You’re not helping your case, Nikiforov.”

 

“I was one.” I bite my bottom lip and rock back onto the couch.  “I thought Yuuri was going to turn into one, and he didn’t.”

 

“Hah!” Phichit’s laugh is loud and bitter. “Try again.”

 

“I’m sorry?” I try to smile, but it feels wrong.

 

“If you think I believe in-- in.. man… wolves...”

 

“Werewolf?” I offer. Phichit is very good at seeming threatening.

 

“ _ Werewolf _ bullshit, well, honey--”

 

We both look to the front door when it clicks open. Yuuri is back, out of breath. His nose is flushed pink along with his rosy cheeks.

 

“Yuuri. He says he’s a wolf.” Phichit says in a deadpan.

 

“Uh-huh.” Yuuri nods, licking his lips. “He has the same eyes as the wolf that saved me.”

 

“SAVED you? Are you  _ crazy? _ You almost died!” Phichit screeches. “Are you sure you’re not projecting? You’ve  spent a lot of time thinking about Viktor’s eyes in your life.”

 

“I saw him yesterday. As a wolf.” Yuuri’s jaw is set and his voice is low.

 

“I’m calling Ciao Ciao--”

 

“No!”  Yuuri and I both echo each other. But Phichit only listens to Yuuri, looking stricken.

 

“I… I can’t do that right now, Peach. I think I pulled some stitches… I just… I want to leave it alone, just this once..” Yuuri collapses onto the other end of the couch. Phichit immediately rushed over with a box of gauze, elastic bandages, and antiseptic wash.

 

“I got you. I got an A on surgical stitches,” Phichit says with an artificial cheerfulness. He helps tug Yuuri’s shirt over his head and unwind the bandages from where it’s taped to itself.

 

A violent shiver runs down my spine.  I can smell him-- I can smell  _ it.  _  Blood, an underlayer of Yuuri. Something I couldn’t get out of my mind, human or lupine, for days on end.

The sight of his bare chest makes me sick. The skin is mottled with bruises, a tie-dye of purples browns and yellow.

I remember stopping them before they tore into the viscera. But the skin of his torso is patchworked together. The first bite-- from the hungriest wolf-- is covered with a skin graft.

 

If he had changed, like me, this would have been healed by now.  His body and my expectation are at brutal odds. I know this is the man in the snowbank. I know what we did to him.  But I don’t know why he didn’t follow us back into the trees.

 

Back then, it took me a day and a half before I lost it.  I’m sure Yakov paid the hotel deposit, after the police scoured it for proof beyond animalistic thrashing.

 

It’s been  _ two weeks. _

 

“Did you do this?” I ask. Phichit shakes his head, methodically cleaning the areas on Yuuri’s sides where he pulled at the stitches and started bleeding anew.

 

“I’m just a med student. Yuuri was in the hospital for a week.” Phichit’s voice has a softer edge around Yuuri. 

 

Yuuri is quiet, his gaze distance behind his glasses.

 

“I’m being truthful. I swear it. I would show you, but I can tell it’s too cold for me to turn back. “

 

“Turn human?” Yuuri’s words are so soft, I want to pull them from the air and cradle them in my arms.

 

“Yes. It’s controlled by the weather-- temperature? The warmer it is, the more human you are. I usually spend the winter as a wolf. “

 

“Usually?” Phichit frowns, paying close attention to a section of sutures.

 

“ The newer you are, the longer you last in the cold. After you even out from being changed, that is. The longer you change, the easier it gets.  There are wolves in the pack that change the first time it drops below forty… and some don’t change back at all.”

 

Yuuri licks his lips, quiet.  I can see why Phichit is so protective of him. He’s unfairly beautiful. Dark hair, warm eyes that could hold a universe of stars. It’s been a long time since I realized my attraction to men… but it’s the first time I feel like I have a type, and that type is Yuuri.


	12. Yuuri- Not a Wolf

**Yuuri**

**67 F   19 C Inside**

“You can take my bed,” I finally say, lifting my arms when Phichit tells me to.

 

“No way! You’re still healing!” Phichit squawks.  Viktor’s eyelashes flutter, as he blinks in disbelief.

 

“I can sleep on the floor,” He says, his voice low and thick. “A warm place is more than enough.”

 

“I’m not  _ that  _ mean,” Phichit mutters, clipping the end of the bandages back onto the layer underneath it. 

 

“Peach, please tell me you didn’t give a stranger the shovel talk,” I sigh. He scrunches his nose up, defensive.

 

“I had good reason to warn Chad.” 

 

He wags a finger at me, and we both jump at the chuckle that escapes from Viktor. We both look at him. My heart skips another beat. I know he’s beautiful. I’ve known for years-- I’ve dreamed about it. Yuuko has used Viktor as an example during one of her awful talks.  But the Viktor on the screen or on a poster and the one in front of me don’t match, even if they share the same beauty. This Viktor.. My Viktor.. Is thin and pale, palms thick with calluses.

 

“Who is Chad?” Viktor hums. His eyes are always on me,  but somehow his gaze doesn’t make my skin crawl.

 

“Barista on campus. Yuuri kept getting free coffee. It was super obvious he had a huge crush on Yuuri.  _ Yuuri,  _  however, thought it was because he looks like a mess during finals week.”

 

“I swore it was sympathy!” I bite out, and they both laugh at me.  But it’s true. Why would anyone have a crush on a boring, plain looking guy like me? I skate, but I’m still dime-a-dozen in Japan, where skating isn’t as big as it is in Michigan.

 

“I can see why he did.” Viktor hums, and suddenly I can’t handle it anymore. I jump up and go to the kitchen. I pull out our only pot and grab a package of mung bean noodles from our cabinet. (I missed soba, but the import store Ciao Ciao found us charges $5 a package.)

 

“Yuuri, warn me before you do that! I have to warn the fire department!” Phichit sings from the couch.

 

“That was only once!”  My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, but it isn’t hard to sass Phichit back. We don’t have anything really fattening in the house--- I eat when I’m stressed, so it's a house rule to keep junk food at least a  ten minute walk away. 

 

I manage to make something out of the empty fridge, adding chicken bouillon and stirring in ingredients until it turns into an egg-drop soup.  Viktor tries to follow me, but I can hear Phichit mumbling to him, warning him to stay back. It’s not that I’m not a people person… I just can’t handle it when people hover. It’s worse in America--- one bad day and strangers are laying all over and squeezing you. It only spikes my anxiety. It’s bad enough feeling helpless, only to have your arms pinned down and air breathed in.

I put the tea into the microwave to heat it up before handing it and a bowl of soup over to Viktor. His eyes are wide, and its different than when he’s surprised sitting in a kiss and cry. He looks… vulnerable.

 

“Here. Eat it,” I say, and I immediately feel stupid. So stupid. What did he think I wanted him to do, bathe in it?

 

He makes an obscene sound, drinking from the lip of the bowl instead of using the bent soup spoon I stuck into the bowl.

 

“So… say we believe you about this wolf thing,” Phichit interrupts after an awkward moment of me staring at Viktor, and Viktor eating like he’s tasting food from the gods, “Why are you here?”

 

Viktor looks up from his bowl. “I… don’t know.”

 

I go back for a second mug of tea, just so there is something in my hands.

 

“You obviously have something for Yuuri. Does he smell delicious or something? Because I’m not going to let you eat him.” Phichit sounds completely serious, no matter what ridiculousness he is spouting.

 

“It’s been a hard winter. But no, I’m not here to hunt Yuuri down.”

 

“Don’t lie.”  I set the mug down a little too hard. “You were watching me yesterday. You said you’ve been watching since….the attack.”

 

Viktor looks sheepish.  “Well, we weren’t trying to hunt you. You were just easy prey.”

 

I don’t know why, but I can feel my cheeks burn. I turn, fiddling with the sink just so I can turn my back to him.

 

“I knew, even in my wolf brain, that something would happen. I wanted to be there, so you wouldn’t be alone. So I could lead you to the pack.”

 

“But… Yuuri’s not a wolf.” Phichit’s voice darkens, and my stomach drops in dread.

 

“Well,” Viktor breaths, smoothing on a picture-perfect smile. “Maybe he’s a cure.”

  
  



	13. Wierd English

**Viktor**

**68F  20C Inside**

 

The idea of Yuuri as a cure is met with a dirty look from Phichit and promptly dropped. I don’t press it, because here they are,  giving me food, shelter and clothing. No questions asked.

“So… anything  happen since October?” I speak up after a few minutes of silent staring into soup bowls. Phichit dished out servings for himself and Yuuri, although Yuuri hasn’t done much except play with his spoon.

 

“We live in a political hellscape.” Phichit says darkly, and the tone is enough to scare me off from any clarification. 

 

“Well…  Yuuri, you said you skate, right?” I suddenly miss Makkachin dearly. She never judged my conversation topics.

Yuuri is quiet.

 

“He’s the top-rated skater in Japan.” Phichit’s spine straightens. “He got third at Skate America last season.”

 

“I’m not that impressive.” Yuuri mutters into his soup bowl. He’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, but I can tell he’s making an effort to stay away from me.

 

“Best in the country is not anything to sneeze at.” I offer.  Even if he’s the worst skater in the world, he’s saved me.

 

Both Phichit and Yuuri stare blankly at me. Yuuri’s nose wrinkles slightly in confusion. It’s adorable. I am so screwed.

 

“It’s… English saying?”

 

“Why would you sneeze at? Do you sneeze on things you don’t like? On command?” Phichit rambles quietly. Yuuri just looks back into his bowl, squinting as if he’s been given a math equation beyond his level.

 

“I’m not taking the piss out of you, I promise. I heard it from another skater!” I say, and Phichit’s eyebrows fly up into his hairline.

 

“I don’t want you and piss  _ anywhere  _  in this house, thanks.” 

 

“I--- that’s not what I mean!” My voice takes a whining note to it without meaning to. “I’m speaking English, aren’t I?”

 

“Uh, weird english.” Phichit smirks.

 

“Yakov made sure I had a tutor from England herself.”  I find myself pouting.

 

“That explains it. Yuuri, who was your English teacher?”

 

“Uh, Minako-sensei… and like… six different people in high school.” Yuuri’s voice keeps at a low murmur.

 

“Okay, sure, but where did you learn what  ‘DTF’ means?”

 

Yuuri’s brow furrows adorably. “You. And I didn’t really need to know that.”

 

“Oh, hush.  You learned it at English Table. Here in America. The country we currently live in.”

 

Yuuri looks up, his gaze doubtful. His finger is rubbing patterns on the lip of his bowl.  “So?”

 

“We’re speaking  _ American English… _ And Viktor.. Well… Not American English.” Phichit holds up his hands, palms facing the ceiling. He looks proud of himself.

 

“Okay.” Yuuri says flatly. His socks have little white and green triangles with red dots in the middle. They’re hideous, but I think I like them on Yuuri anyway.

 

“Hey Viktor, what is this?” Phichit dances onto his feet, tugging at his shoulder.

 

“A jumper?” I say, not sure if he means his shoulder or the item of clothing sitting on it. He bursts out  laughing.

 

“A jumper!” He wheezes. “I can’t believe the love of your life calls this a jumper!”

 

Yuuri goes stock still, and the entire room freezes. Everything is dead quiet except for the soft tap of Yuuri’s bowl resting on top of the coffee table. Yuuri stands up,  his head tucked into his chest, before he briskly walks out of the room and disappears into his bedroom.

 

Phichit looks like he regrets it immediately, but he doesn’t make a move to get up. We sit in five minutes of agonizing silence before I can’t stand it anymore. I  go and knock on Yuuri’s door. He doesn’t answer, but I’m not surprised. He is probably expecting Phichit, and even if he realizes it’s me, I’m not a better option.

 

“Yuuri,” I say through the door. It’s cheap, made of hollow  wood. If Yuuri had changed, he could have easily shredded it. 

I wait. He is quiet still.

 

“Yuuri, are you scared of me?” I lean against the door, my forehead pressed against the rough grain.

 

“N….No. I just… I need time.” His voice is muted, but it's the sweetest medicine I’ve ever tasted.

 


	14. Yuuri- Belonging

**Yuuri**

**70 F inside 21C**

 

Everything comes flooding back the next morning. I remember the smell of wolf, of Viktor naked in the snow before I can even fit my glasses on my face. My stomach twists with nerves. Phichit’s bed is empty. We talked before going to bed last night, and he sacrificed once of his blankets and pillows to Viktor.  The hospitality-mind that has been drilled into me since birth overrides my anxiety for once: I stumble out of bed with coffee in mind. Neither I nor Phichit eat breakfast much, but I don’t know about Viktor. He could be starving, hands folded in his lap, patiently waiting.

 

Except he’s not. I walk into the main room to see Viktor standing in the kitchen, the coffee machine already sputtering. He’s backlit by the windows, white winter light setting his hair and body aglow.

 

My feet freeze to the floor with the beauty of it.  He looks...sad. I catch a sliver of it as he turns his head, a millisecond before he notices me and slides on a smile. It’s different than the smile in his pictures… it’s wide and heart-shaped, and it feels like it’s should be a secret to be kept.

 

“G-good morning,” I stutter, sounding and feeling stupid. I know Phichits gone, because he’s a morning person and signed up for all the classes I avoid.

 

“Good morning, Yuuri!” Viktor’s voice matches the brightness of the light coming in the windows. “Phichit showed me how to make coffee!”

 

“Oh… good. Do you need milk? Sugar?” I move forward, flinging open a cabinet and nearly smacking myself in the forehead with the door.  “Um, we only have soy milk…”

 

“Ah. Healthier?” Viktor taps his bottom lip with his index finger. There’s two mugs on the counter, and one in the sink already.

 

“Uh, no. Phichit and I are lactose intolerant.” I mutter, pulling out a jar of sugar cubes.

 

“Ah. I swore I’ve seen him with ice cream on instagram…” Viktor hums. My knees feel weak.

 

“Yeah… it doesn’t stop him from eating ice cream… or cheese…” I laugh nervously, before I find the honey we inherited from a skater who moved out just after fall quarter.

 

“I’d be scared to eat ice cream myself,” Viktor drops two sugar cubes into the mug closest to him.

 

“You...why?” Is the smartest sentence I can manage.  

 

“I try to keep as warm as possible when it matters.” Viktor’s smile grows thin, before he  tips the glass carafe to his mug.

 

“Are...you going to change?”  His eyes meet mine, and he looks wary--scared that  _ I’m scared.  _  I told him that I’m not scared last night, but he doesn’t trust me. I  _ should _ be scared… All the proof I have is the memory of a scent, and the air of the same scent in Viktor’s skin.  He hasn’t changed into a wolf… and neither have I. Viktor disappeared mysteriously over three years ago. Whose to tell he hasn’t been brainwashed or tortured into it?

 

But… I still remember that night, however fuzzy it was. I know, somewhere deep down, that  _ wolves  _  do not stop the kill. They don’t stop, especially when it is five against one. They left, one of them howling loud enough that someone came out  and saw me. The person who found me was older than my grandmother. Easy prey.

 

I had a fever, I have more scars than I can count. But I didn’t hit my head, I didn’t hallucinate Viktor’s human eyes in a wolf face.

 

“No. I’m feeling pretty solid. But I need to stay inside. I tend to change when it hits the low 30s.” Viktor pushed the sugar and honey toward me, and I notice that he’s poured me a cup too. He’s holding one with ‘ _ Texas Grandpa’ _ written across the side in red text. He’s saved the mug  with a picture of someone’s cocker spaniel on it for me. Phichit got it for me because of the dogs winking face and the  eighties style “Wake up to a happy face” written on wavy text on the other side. We really only needed some mugs for the apartment, but Phichit had taken thrift store shopping very seriously.

 

“Oh… Well..” I go to pull the milk out of the  fridge. “We can watch a movie, maybe? I don’t have practice or classes until I heal up a bit more…”

 

“That sounds wonderful.” Viktor smiles. His mug turns into more milk than coffee. It’s surreal, watching him stand in my kitchen. In the place I’ve called home for the past three years.

 

He looks like he belongs there.


	15. Phichit

**Phichit**

**70 F 21 C (inside)**

 

I love Yuuri. I love him enough to let  _ Viktor Fucking Nikiforov, naked, _ into our apartment. I let him sleep on our couch. I let Yuuri dote on him, even though I know it’s dangerous.

 

One badly angled selfie on Instagram and we could have the entire Russian government on our heads.

 

I love Yuuri, even though he seems fully convinced by Viktors bullshit story about wolves. I know he’s in love. He’s finally resting, taking the days off Ciao Ciao got him, but it’s not like he’s doing it because we asked him. He’s doing it because he has Viktor as a willing captive. The furnace is always going at full blast, and I can’t even be mad. Yuuri told me he’d pay for the extra cost before he even touched the dial. He’s never owed me a dollar for more than a day, so I can’t fault him on that.

 

Viktor wears Yuuri’s clothes, even after he spends an hour on Yuuri’s Macbook wiring money into our accounts to help with food. Amazon is a thing, but he seems to  _ like  _ wearing pants that are short on him and shirts that are a little too narrow. I can’t say anything because I can tell Yuuri likes it too.

 

Soon enough, I can’t take it anymore. I snap.

 

The jug of Malibu rum makes a satisfying thump on the kitchen counter when I set it down. I got a pack of Asahi beer, because I’m a cheap bitch, but I also like enjoying the taste of what I put in my mouth.

 

“I can’t stand you two any longer without getting drunk,” I declare, leaving out the  _ lovesick _ part out of it. “It’s Friday funday.”

 

“Phichit, you’re not even twenty-one yet!” Yuuri squeaks. They’ve gone from opposite ends of the couch to thighs-touching, and stayed there way too damn long.

 

“Did I say question it?” I hold up a finger, and Yuuri shrugs. I shove over the super-gulp size of Baja Blast I picked up at Taco Bell on the way home. I don’t have a good cover story, other than Chad the Second works at Wine World and doesn’t ask very many questions.

 

Thing I love about Yuuri #5781: He looks small and blushes easily, but Yuuri can drink anyone under the table.

 

I pour a drink for each of us. I make Viktor and Yuuri’s stronger than my own.  Usually being sober isn’t fun when you’re the only one… but this is  _ Yuuri  _ we are talking about.

 

“Yeah! Kiss him!” Yuuri growls. The Asahi is gone, and so is most of the rum.   Yuuri has drunk most of it. Viktor looks like he is about to fall asleep, but he keeps his eyes open, watching Yuuri instead of  _ The King and The Skater. _ I want to be personally offended, but I don’t blame him. Yuuri runs warm when he drinks, and while he is steadier than Viktor is, he has gotten to the point of stripping. The only time I see Yuuri shirtless is when he is changing into something else-- and when he’s drunk. He’s graduated from a full body wrap to a few self-stick gauze patches to keep his sutures from snagging on his clothing. He’s looking pretty good, and that’s coming from someone not hopelessly in love with Yuuri.

 

We get to my favorite part-- the pair skate, and Yuuri rises to his feet.

 

“Viktorrr--” He adds a soft u sound to the end. He always sounds a little funny when drunk. I love it.  “Get up. Let’s try.”


	16. Viktor- Pair Skate

**Viktor**

**70 F 21 C**

 

“Yuuri, that’s a pair skate. We’re not at a rink.” I laugh nervously. I’ve been cautious with the liquor tonight, but I still feel warm and floaty. I can’t afford to be stupid around Yuuri. I don’t want to lose him.

 

“Dance,” Yuuri drawls, his voice like honey. I can’t say no-- I can’t say no when sober, and I don’t want to say no.

 

His fingers tangle in mine, and he leads perfectly-- a little pressure with his palms before his feet step forward. He dips me to mere inches above the floor, his hands strong and sure on my back.  I know I’m in danger only because he smiles the whole time, eyes sparkling as he stares directly into my eyes. The world spins, but the only thing that matters is hanging onto me. He doesn’t even wince when he bangs his shin on the coffee table, too entranced with the dance. He pressed his chest against mine, and it’s nice… His heart beating just as fast as mine.  But unlike the past week we’ve spent together, it doesn’t show. He looks perfectly confident, each step and movement sure and solid.

It’s the best dance I’ve ever had in my life.

 

Yuuri finishes it with his hands cupping my face. We happen to be behind the couch, and I see the same exact move play out on the screen before the movie goes onto roll credits.

 

There’s an ache in my chest. I don’t know if its because Yuuri leaves me, tumbling over the back of the couch to roll onto Phichit. Or if it because of how badly I want  _ this.  _ Movies at home, easy laughter, and sweet drinks. Even with his dwelling mistrust and disbelief at my connection with Yuuri, Phichit is still a better friend than most.

 

But I am a wolf, and Yuuri is not. The minute I step outside of the door, I will be gone, lost to the woods. I won’t even remember Yuuri, beyond his warm scent and the urgent call to  _ find, protect.  _ Words that don’t even belong in my brain in that form-- words that only hold their concept, an instinct  just beyond my grasp.`

I can’t try again. I promised… I promised that I would never let that happen. Even if it was Yuuri’s choice, it wouldn’t be fair.  He has a good life-- he has a light that warms the people around him. 

I can’t take that.

 

I want to, desperately. I want to, when I sit on the couch and Yuuri crawls on top of me. He sits on my lap, his eyes holding my universe, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw.

 

I take some of his light from him when I press my lips to his. He melts into it, his soft lips curving into a smile as his hands drop onto my shoulders.  His fingers play at the back of my neck, and when I move back, he moves forward hungrily.

 

I’ve never been happier.

 


	17. Viktor-- the author actually puts fluff

**Viktor**

**69 F  20C**

 

I know Yuuri is not a morning person. He’s never woken up before me, and when he does, it takes him a good twenty minutes before he can form a coherent sentence. So when I wake up with him curled up against my chest, I don’t expect him to scramble off like I burned him.

 

“Good morning.” I smile, already missing the warm weight of his body on mine. 

 

“Oh god… What did I do?” Yuuri moans, sitting on his legs at my feet.

 

“Nothing.”  I sit up, my back cracking as I move. It doesn’t satisfy him. He pulls at his hair, a nervous nick that beckons the coming of something worse. “Yuuri, I had fun. We danced. Phichit said it was better to stay out of your room, so I didn’t want to move you after you dozed off.”

 

Yuuri worries his bottom lip. I want to smooth my thumb over it. But Yuuri doesn’t seem to remember last night.

 

“Yuuri… do you like me?” His eyes snap up as I say it, his cheeks burning red. His teeth work on his lips faster. His head jerks up and down a quick nod before his fingers twist to hide his face.

 

“Good. I like you too.” My voice betrays me and shakes. Yuuri’s eyes are wide and peek out from behind his fingers. He is stock still when I press a kiss to his forehead. A precious soft squeak escapes his mouth before he folds forward, cheek resting against my shoulder.

 

The coming  days are full of  little experiences.

 

Even though we’ve kissed twice already, I take it slow. I let my hand brush his when we wash dishes. My shoulder bumps into his on purpose, gently at first. When he doesn’t shrink away I stay close to him, craving even the lightest touch.

After three days, I’m brave enough to rest my hand on top of his. We are sitting on the couch, and he goes from sitting next to me to sitting against me, his arm pressing into mine. His weight is a comfort and a craving satisfied before I realized what it was.  When he moved to turn a page in his textbook, his hand finds mine again, his fingers curling into mine.

 

When he falls asleep while studying, I  find out another Yuuri-ism. He likes his hair being touched-- he melts into me when I smooth it down. He drools a little when he sleeps, and will sleep heavily until a large enough force or panic forces him out of bed.

 

I add it to my list of other things about Yuuri  I keep ,tucked away like little paper secrets.

 

Yuuri takes his coffee with more sugar and milk than brew.

He is studying business, but loathes doing math. 

 

Yuuri can  make any meal delicious, even if it involved canned food and Doritos.

 

Yuuri only has one pair of pants that covers his ankles. His only socks that are long enough to do the same are the ones that he wears while skating.

 

His soft blade guards and hard blade guard bag  are both poodle-themed.

 

Yuuri blushes with every touch.

 


	18. Yuuri- First Date

**Yuuri**

**49 F 9C**

 

Viktor’s been sleeping on the couch for over two weeks when it finally happens.

An unseasonably warm day, forecasted to last the week. It’s enough to melt the snow and show patches of dying grass. Warm enough for Viktor to leave.

 

I can tell he’s nervous. He wears a sweater, two hoodies, and a wool coat-- everything warm that Phichit and I own. His excitement is contagious, and I can’t help to smile when he does, stepping out into the cracked pavement parking lot and breathing fresh air for the first time in a long time.

“Here.” I hand him my knit hat, tugging off two of the hoods he’s pulled over his head. “You look like you’re going to rob a bank.” It covers his silver hair without making people look at him more. His fingers skim over it, and he smiles like I’ve given him the shirt off my back.

 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his eyes sparkling as he tugs the hat down over his ears. I blink, stunned. He waits though before I nod silently. I stupidly can’t get any words out, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He kisses me gently, his lips colder than mine even though we’ve only been outside for a few minutes as the most. He tastes like peppermint, and he laughs because the thought makes my face warm.

 

“What’s the plan,  moya zvezda?” Viktor wraps his fingers around mine, and I can’t help smiling either.

 

“That depends on what you’re calling me.” I can’t manage to look at him, my heart jumping when he squeezes my hand.

 

“ _ My star.  _ Why, would you prefer something else?”

 

“N-no. It’s okay.”  I don’t know if it's too much or perfect. “I… I was thinking… we could get coffee… maybe get you some clothes that actually fit. I mean… if you want.”

 

“Sounds wonderful” He smiles at me encouragingly, but it's still easy to doubt it. After two weeks trapped in my apartment, going to the dentist would be a good change of pace.

 

We walk onto campus, so we can take the bus heading toward North Corktown.

 

“Ah, it’s a coffee stand!” Viktor sings out before I can stop him.  It’s Chad coffee-- Phichit’s name, not mine. I don’t want to pull Viktor away from it and have to explain, so I let him lead me while desperately praying that Chad isn’t working today.

The coffee shop is all glass, the floor the same grey linoleum as most of the buildings I have class in. It’s not the most beautiful example of architecture, but Viktor’s face lights up.

 

“Wow. There’s way more options than in Italy!” He says, blue eyes floating across the chalkboard menu.

 

“I--it’s probably not as good,” I stutter, already embarrassed. There’s no way college-student-coffee compares to the birthplace of espresso.

 

“What’s your favorite?” Viktor asks after spending a few minutes staring at the menu and tapping his chin with his forefinger.

 

“I… I usually get a white chocolate mocha. Phichit likes dirty chai.” I regret the words the moment they’re out of my mouth, but unlike Phichit, Viktor lets the innuendo slide.

 

“Two white chocolate mochas, then?” Viktor’s face is so bright and dazzling words scramble.

 

“O--okay.” I step toward the register before all my internal organs turn ice cold. It’s Chad.

 

He smiles at me, smoothing his floppy hair back. Phichit says that’s flirting, but I still think he just needs a better haircut. Viktor is somewhere behind me.

 

“Hi, Yuuri!” There’s over 27,000 students on campus and it has to be Chad and he has to know my name. 

 

“Hi….” The rest of the words disappear from my tongue. It takes a split second before I can feel Viktor’s arm snake around my back, his hand resting on my stomach.

 

“Hi…. Tomas!” Viktor sings, pausing to read off his name tag. Damnit Phichit. I make a mental note to Google what ‘Chad’ means. The smile on Tomas’ face dims a few watts.

 

“T-t-two mocha chocolate white please,” I stutter. Viktor’s close enough that I can smell the shampoo on his hair.

“Straws or beans?” Tomas says robotically.

 

“Um… yes,” I say.

 

“Thank you!” Viktor coos, waving as I somehow make my feet move to the pick-up counter.

 

“Everyone loves you, Yuuri,” Viktor says under his breath when Tomas starts taking another order.

 

“That was Chad,” I mumble, rolling a plastic-wrap staw between my fingers. “I need to talk with Phichit. About that.”

 

“I don’t blame him.”

 

“Phichit?”

 

“Tomas.”

 

“Stop embarrassing me,”  I mumble.

 

“I’m sorry, Yuuri.”  Viktor does sound genuinely sorry.  I feel guilty for it, and I focus on the paper cups set on the bar instead. 

 

“I… It’s okay. You’re not.. I’m just…” I sigh, pressing the plastic lid against my bottom lip. “I’m not used to it. I don’t know why…. Why people would flirt with me. Or compliment me.”

 

“Yuuri….” Viktor looks stricken before he reaches up and smooths my hair behind my ear. “You deserve it. You deserve the world.”

 

I can’t say anything, but Viktor can read the disbelief in my eyes. His eyelashes flutter. He’s unfairly gorgeous and real and  _ here. _

 

“Yuuri. You’ve been nothing but kind to me. I’ve seen your skating online-- it’s art. If anyone deserves compliments and love, it’s you.”

 

“You’re the one who skates  _ art _ ,” I mutter, handing him his mocha. It’s the largest size, and I know I asked for the cheapest and smallest one.

 

“You flatter me. But that part of my life is over,” Viktor says it easily. I don’t know why, but I can feel tears blurring my vision.

 

“Oh, Yuuri.”  He gasps, swiping against my cheek. I blink, but the tears only come faster. “Don’t cry. I’m here, aren’t I?”

 

But he’s already ruined it.  All I can think of the woods, and his eyes in the face of a wolf.


	19. Viktor- Okay

**Viktor**

**49 F  9C**

 

Yuuri’s quiet on the bus ride to our next stop. I started the day excited, but it’s already worn on me. Yuuri’s cried, and I feel carsick three minutes into the ride. Yuuri pulls his wallet out everywhere, and, even though I have my bank account number memorized for situations like these, I still feel terrible for it. There’s too many people around and the scent of gasoline is overwhelming.

Yuuri sits next to me, close enough that our thighs are touching, but he is distant. He stares through the blue formica bus floor, lost in his own head.

I lean into him. I can’t feel his body heat, the layers of fabric between us starving me.

 

“I wish I had changed.” His voice is small and fragile. His hands are folded in his lap before he starts fidgeting and picking at his nails.

 

“Oh, Yuuri. You don’t.” I reach out to take his hand in his mine and squeeze.

 

“I was supposed to, wasn’t I?” His hands still in mine.  I search his face for meaning, but he’s still looking somewhere else far away.

 

“I’m glad you didn’t. You’re a wonderful human. I don’t want that stolen from you.” My throat feels thick. Yuuri shakes his head but remains quiet.

 

“Would it be so bad?” He says, watching the stop names switch on the LED display hanging from the bus. “Not having to think…. Just  _ knowing _ .”

 

“I knew where to find you.” I swallow back another roll of nausea. I know, logically that its because I’m in a vehicle, and I haven’t ridden on a bus for a decade. But I can’t push the fear that its a sign of changing, of losing my humanity. My bones aren’t cracking and sliding against each other, taking on a new form.  It’s the same nausea I would get from too many turns on a merry-go-round. It’s not the stomach clenching nausea that warns me at the edge of winter.

It’s okay.

 

It has to be okay.

 

Yuuri smiles weakly and squeezes my hand.


	20. Viktor- Goodwill

**Viktor**

**50 F 10C**

 

My days of Gucci are far behind me. The shop-- Goodwill-- I have to remember to look up what it means later-- smells like old wool and mothballs. It’s full of a strange mix of clothing, some of which belongs back in the Soviet era on Yakov’s shoulders.  Yuuri walks the aisles, trailing his fingers over the hangers. There’s a donation bin in the corner, and lots of tags with H&M embroidered in red thread.

 

Yuuri shyly smiles behind his first offering-- a puce sweater with gold sequin O’s sewn onto the cuffs.  I wrinkle my nose and his laughter is music to my ears. He throws it back onto the rack, and the next thing he pulls is a pair of jeans I would actually wear.

 

I don’t mind wearing Yuuri’s clothes, but I can’t take offense at this trip either. It makes this feel permanent, and the fact that my clothing will sit in Yuuri’s drawers makes my heart beat faster. 

 

We leave with three outfits and pajama pants that cover my ankles.

I wish I had lasted long enough to wear them all.


	21. Yuuri- Frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is a fluff bang fic okay? Trust me, okay???

Yuuri

30 F -1C

The warm snap leaves as fast as it came, and Viktor is back to being trapped in the apartment. We’ve managed to miss Valentines Day completely, and midterms are sneaking up on me. I’ve worn out my medical leave and have no choice but to study. I feel terrible until Viktor picks up a book and reads next to me while I write a paper about a subject I’ve only read the Wikipedia page on. I log him into my student account and come home from my next class with an armful of books. His face lights up, his heart-shaped smile returning. Studying is much more bearable with him curled up next to me. 

“Hey, Yuuri? Ciao Ciao said sponsorship checks are in the mailbox!” Phichit calls from the bedroom. Phichit and I share it, but I spend more time on the couch than on my bed now.

“Okay?” I call back out, clicking the save icon on my latest project. 

“I love you!” Phichit sings dramatically, and I sigh. I close the lid of my macbook and roll my eyes. Viktor barely looks up from his book as I stuff my feet into my boots and pull on the warmest coat off the hook. Our apartment is cheap so, instead of a lobby, we have a set of keys that go to a giant metal block that sits on the curb. We keep the key on a push pin near the door, even though I’m the only one brave enough to go outside.

The air bites when I leave the building, my boots scraping off a layer of frost on the sidewalk. If I run, it’s a two minute trip, but something in my body tells me to stop.

A wolf stalks the small patch of grass behind the mailboxes. Its breath comes out in a cloud, its nostrils steaming when it turns to watch me. 

Panic rises in my throat. I try to form a word, but it just comes out as a scream.


	22. Viktor

 

**Viktor**

 

**30F -1C**

 

I can’t ignore it.  His scream cuts into my core.

I don’t have time for shoes. I can’t spare a second for a coat. Not when Yuuri is out there, in danger.

 

I smell her before I even open the front door. Wolf. It’s only wolf, but I know it's Hannah. Only Hannah would be this reckless.

Yuuri is crumpled on the sidewalk, his panicked breathing a huge cloud floating into the white sky. Hannah’s paws are at his feet, and she watches. She stares directly at me, even though I can hear Phichit crash through the door behind me.

 

My stomach twists at the same time Hannah presses her nose into Yuuri’s chest.

 

“Yuuri!” I choke out, and his head twists. His eyes meet mine, and his terror doesn’t lessen.

 

He sobs, but I can’t, the air robbed from my lungs as my ribs shift and slide. Color bleeds from my vision, slipping away into yellows and blues.

 

I forget myself, but not Yuuri. A low growl rips from my throat. Hannah looks up, her brown eyes rolling. I step forward, and thankfully, she retreats.  Yuuri’s hands find my ruff, his fingers curling into it. His face is wet when it buries into my neck, but I don’t turn from Hannah. Not until she slinks back into the woods that border the neighborhood. 

 

The last thing I understand with my human brain is Phichit’s low gasp and curse. 

 

Then it all fades away.

 


	23. Yuuri

**Phichit**

**30 F -1C**

 

I don’t have time to process Viktor’s change. Yuuri falls apart in front of me. He manages to hold onto Viktor’s neck for maybe a minute before the grey wolf pulls out of his grip. He goes after the brown wolf that just pinned Yuuri down, and even I can tell he’s not happy.

 

I gather up Viktor’s discarded clothes, just so Yuuri won’t have to see them abandoned in the grass. I help him sit up then rub my hand up and down his back. It shudders with each breath he manages to suck in and his teeth chatter despite his coat.

 

I manage to drag him back upstairs and set him on the couch still in his coat. I brew him a mug of  _ genmaicha _ and he just stares into the mug.

 

“Yuuri, we need to talk about this,” I say, sitting down next to him. Watching Viktor change… I lost my appetite.

 

“Are you studying mental health this quarter?” He says listlessly.

 

“No. But it’s obvious you’ve had trauma. Maybe you should see someone.”

 

“I’m not interested,” Yuuri deadpans back.

 

“Yuuri. I’m serious.”

 

“Yeah, I am too. I’m not telling a doctor about the guy I like turning into a wolf when it’s cold.”

He’s got me there.

 

“Boyfriend. You can call him your boyfriend. I’ve seen you making out.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t even blush. He just looks sad. “We didn’t get to talk about that.”

 

“Then I need to at least tell Ciao Ciao about it.” I cross my arms. Yuuri just sinks into the couch, his knuckles curled against the dip between his nose and his lips.

 

“No! You tell him, and he’ll go to the police, and then they’ll start hunting Viktor!” His eyes widen in panic. “Phichit, don’t! Please.” He begs, and his voice is sad enough that I feel like a terrible person.

 

“I won’t, I won’t! But… at least let me get you some pepper spray. The wolves  _ are _ going after you.”

 

“Viktor said it was just because I was an easy target,” Yuuri mumbles.

 

“Well, maybe the first time. You can’t call what happened a coincidence.” Yuuri refuses to look at me, or talk about it any longer.  I put on a movie just so the apartment isn’t so quiet and lifeless.


	24. Yuuri- Wingli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all for the comments! <3
> 
> This fic requires a little handwavey thoughts about science and how Detroit works. Wingli is an actual place in Detroit, as well as the bus lines and general geographic things mentioned in the past. Just pretend that along with werwolves, Detroit has some habitable woods just hanging around....

**Yuuri**

**25F -3C**

 

Ciao Ciao is happy to drive me to Wingli, the only Asian market that carries Japanese and Thai imports. There are other options, but Phichit has given our coach The Speech, and it’s far enough away that I don’t feel bad asking for a ride.  The bus is doable, but it requires more planning so we don’t end up jammed in a full bus with heavy bags.

Celestino never comes in on the shopping trips. Phichit thinks it's for privacy, but one of the other skating students told us it's because Celestino uses one of those meals-by-mail food services.  He spends all his effort on planning practices and season travel.

 

The entire store smells like fish. It reminds me of home, and how I used to get the groceries from the people who actually caught the animal or pulled the vegetable from the earth. Nothing I can afford on my budget it that fresh. We tried doing farmers market last summer, but it involved too much talking to people.

I’m not here to get food for me or Phichit though. I’m here because all the grocery stores by the apartment are meant for rich white college students who don’t know that there's more edible parts to a chicken than wings or breasts. There’s feet, gizzards, and birds that don’t have their guts neatly packaged and tied with string underneath the plastic wrap. There’s a sheep’s head staring foggily out from behind the plastic case, a row of pig hooves stacked a few feet over.

 

“I’m glad to see you’ve got your appetite back, Yuuri.” Ciao Ciao smiles when I tap on the window and open the car door, dropping two of my five bags. 

 

It’s mainly frozen hunks of whole meat, cheap because it’s too gristly for general consumption. I did get a bag of plantain chips for Phichit, and a box of Caplico cookies to push down the nostalgia that always creeps on me during these shopping trips. 

I hand Ciao Ciao a box of green tea pocky as a token of thanks, and he pats my head like I’m his kid. I’m not a big fan of it, but I let it slide. Viktor was touchy too. Maybe it’s a European thing?

 

He tells me to say hi to Phichit when he pulls in front of our apartment. I promise, but it won’t be for a while. I wave as he pulls away, before hiking to the woods where I last saw Viktor.

 

Part of me hopes that he’ll remember me, remember the past few weeks and walk up to me without fear. But then I remember how he talked about  _ wolf brain _ and the pack. I want Viktor, but I don’t want the other wolves pinning me down.

 

I walk until I can’t see the street anymore before pulling out the meat. I pull the plastic film off and shove the foam trays back into the bag.  Whatever I grabbed first ends up being some kind of ribs. I pause, bending the cut bone back and forth until it splits in the middle with a crack.  The hair at the back of my neck stands on end. Saliva fills my mouth, even though I know I barely handle the texture of sashimi, forget raw pork.

 

I throw one side of the ribs across the clearing and drop the second piece at my feet, breathing heavily. The cloud of my breath blows back in my face, fogging up my glasses until I can’t see anymore.

 

I sit and wait. I wait until my hands stop shaking enough that I can wipe my glasses on my shirt.  I wait until my fingers go numb through my gloves. I wait, and I prove myself right. No one comes.

**Yuuri**

**25F -3C**

 

Ciao Ciao is happy to drive me to Wingli, the only Asian market that carries Japanese and Thai imports. There are other options, but Phichit has given our coach The Speech, and it’s far enough away that I don’t feel bad asking for a ride.  The bus is doable, but it requires more planning so we don’t end up jammed in a full bus with heavy bags.

Celestino never comes in on the shopping trips. Phichit thinks it's for privacy, but one of the other skating students told us it's because Celestino uses one of those meals-by-mail food services.  He spends all his effort on planning practices and season travel.

 

The entire store smells like fish. It reminds me of home, and how I used to get the groceries from the people who actually caught the animal or pulled the vegetable from the earth. Nothing I can afford on my budget it that fresh. We tried doing farmers market last summer, but it involved too much talking to people.

I’m not here to get food for me or Phichit though. I’m here because all the grocery stores by the apartment are meant for rich white college students who don’t know that there's more edible parts to a chicken than wings or breasts. There’s feet, gizzards, and birds that don’t have their guts neatly packaged and tied with string underneath the plastic wrap. There’s a sheep’s head staring foggily out from behind the plastic case, a row of pig hooves stacked a few feet over.

 

“I’m glad to see you’ve got your appetite back, Yuuri.” Ciao Ciao smiles when I tap on the window and open the car door, dropping two of my five bags. 

 

It’s mainly frozen hunks of whole meat, cheap because it’s too gristly for general consumption. I did get a bag of plantain chips for Phichit, and a box of Caplico cookies to push down the nostalgia that always creeps on me during these shopping trips. 

I hand Ciao Ciao a box of green tea pocky as a token of thanks, and he pats my head like I’m his kid. I’m not a big fan of it, but I let it slide. Viktor was touchy too. Maybe it’s a European thing?

 

He tells me to say hi to Phichit when he pulls in front of our apartment. I promise, but it won’t be for a while. I wave as he pulls away, before hiking to the woods where I last saw Viktor.

 

Part of me hopes that he’ll remember me, remember the past few weeks and walk up to me without fear. But then I remember how he talked about  _ wolf brain _ and the pack. I want Viktor, but I don’t want the other wolves pinning me down.

 

I walk until I can’t see the street anymore before pulling out the meat. I pull the plastic film off and shove the foam trays back into the bag.  Whatever I grabbed first ends up being some kind of ribs. I pause, bending the cut bone back and forth until it splits in the middle with a crack.  The hair at the back of my neck stands on end. Saliva fills my mouth, even though I know I barely handle the texture of sashimi, forget raw pork.

 

I throw one side of the ribs across the clearing and drop the second piece at my feet, breathing heavily. The cloud of my breath blows back in my face, fogging up my glasses until I can’t see anymore.

 

I sit and wait. I wait until my hands stop shaking enough that I can wipe my glasses on my shirt.  I wait until my fingers go numb through my gloves. I wait, and I prove myself right. No one comes.


	25. Yuuri and the Wold

**Yuuri**

 

**27F  -3 C**

 

When I go back to the clearing two days later, the meat is gone. I leave another offering before I have to go to class. Once is nice, but like Phichit said, twice isn’t a coincidence.

 

It takes a week, but then I see him.

 

He’s waiting, just outside of the clearing, watching from behind the trees. I already unwrapped the meat, giving it time to thaw before dumping it on the frozen ground.   I sit down in the snow, trying to make myself look as small as possible. It works-- he creeps from between the birch trees. Careful, slow steps. I hold my breath. I should avert my eyes-- just in case he thinks I am trying for dominance-- but I can’t. I don’t know if its the fact that it’s a wolf-- or that it’s Viktor-- that makes me unable to tear my eyes away from him.

 

I push the meat closer to him, putting a few feet between me and the meal. He comes closer, but he doesn’t eat. He just watches. I wait.

 

I know he remembers something about me when he moves closer. He sits on the ground next to me,  so close that his snowflake-damp fur brushes my cheek. I’m too scared to move, but he curls himself around me.  The almond scent of wolf is all around me. I should be panicking, but I’ve thought about Viktor so much, that his name comes to mind first.

 


	26. Viktor- As a wolf

 

**Viktor**

**27F -3C**

 

When I am a wolf, I lose everything. 

 

Memories of my home that isn’t where I meet the rest of the pack.

 

Words. 

Colors. 

All I have is pictures. Home is a snapshot of where the other wolves want me to return. Yuuri isn’t a name or a memory but a vague concept. I know who he is automatically: his warm, soft scent.  Now, I can see snowflakes collecting on his lashes. 

 

Somewhere in me, I love him even more because he looks the same. 

 

His eyes are the same color I see in the memories during fleeting moments I can grasp at my human self before it dissipates like smoke.  He wears blues and greens and blacks, my wolf eyes beholding it the same way as I would back home… in his apartment. 

 

I think I lose everything, but I still have Yuuri. 

 

Humans are monsters. They are to be feared. But this one makes me feel one thing:  _ protect _ .

He lets me protect him, too. He settles against my body, too smooth and small and not enough wolf. 

 

One thing I don’t lose as a wolf? Yuuri, and the aching wonder why he isn’t in his wolf skin too. 


	27. Yuuri- Sleep

**Yuuri**

**25 F  -4C**

 

The trips into the woods become a routine for me. There’s only so many times I can get Ciao Ciao to drive me to Wingli, so I sacrifice some of my free time to the bus system. I pack my backpack full of frozen meat. It doesn’t last me as long, but it doesn’t need to. I spend every other day-- the times I’m supposed to be studying-- out in the clearing where I met my world-- Viktor-- and fed him.

 

Sometimes it’s Viktor. Sometimes it's a tan wolf, maybe two of them with the same coat color. They don’t approach me. I don’t really want them to. I just want them to eat, to live. I want Viktor to live.

I think he remembers me when he’s like that. Why else would he walk right up to me? When I drag myself to the clearing when I feel the start of a migraine coming on, he’s there. He comes to me and curls around me.  I know I shouldn’t sit in the snow, but it’s too cold and my skull is split open with pain, and my common sense leaked out an hour ago. 

 

Wolves aren’t like dogs. At least, not the ones I’m used to. They have a thick, double coat, like huskies. They’re not as soft as they look, and they smell wild. Not ’crazy’... but like an animal. Vicchan would smell like roses after visiting the groomers, but Viktor smells strongly of musk, with some sort of sweetness I can’t explain. It’s overwhelming when he’s this close. He doesn’t really cuddle-- he just presses himself around me, his blue eyes in that wolf skull watching the woods he emerged from.

I want to pet him, but any movement makes me vision swim and the headache deepen. I close my eyes so I don’t have to watch my fingers move into his grey muff.

 

Before I know it, I wake up with a wet nose against my cheek. It’s dark-- it was early afternoon when I left.

 

“ _ Shit,” I _ curse in Japanese in the off chance that Viktor can understand English like this.  His wolf eyes stare solemnly back at me. We’re both covered in a powder-sugar dusting of snow, but I don’t feel like shivering. My left foot is asleep though, and it hurts to shake feeling back into it.

 

There’s ten text messages and two missed calls from Phichit.  I’ve really messed up. I’m barely healed from the attack, and now I’m falling asleep curled up with wolves.  The entire Michigan police force will be looking for me if I don’t check in soon.

 

“Hey, want some Pho?” Phichit doesn’t even let me speak when I dial his number. I stuff the apology back in my mouth. He doesn’t even think I’m outside.

 

“Yeah. I’m --I’m at the library now.  I can be home in…. Ten.” I lie. I can see my breath come out in a cloud by the light of the only streetlamp in this area. Viktor’s eyes meet mine again, and I hope Phichit can’t hear me trying to get my footing in the snow and uncurl from the body of a wolf.

 


	28. Viktor- Home

 

**Viktor**

**52F 11 C**

 

I have been a wolf long enough that when I shed my wolf skin, I am solidly human.  New wolves are volatile — changing back and forth on the thinnest of temperature differences. Old wolves are too— the day it gets colder, they disappear. 

I, however, live in the happy middle ground. It’s early spring and I am solid on two bare feet.

Unfortunately, the rest of me is bare too. 

 

Liam planned carefully-- there is a house for the wolves-- always heated and stocked with clothes and self-stable food. Liam is the one who taught me to memorize my bank account numbers. He’s also the one who drafted the emails to Yakov that told him to stop looking for me.

 

I still don’t want to be found-- but I want to find: find Yuuri again.  At best, it’s been two months since I last saw him. I feel like we have met since then, but not in a way where we could talk. I want to, so desperately.  Even if my own ‘home’ is north, where there’s fewer neighborhoods and more acreage.

 

I don’t have the time or energy to go to home base. Unlike home--- _ home _ , in Russia, everyone in this state does their laundry inside. I remember following Yuuri to the basement and watching him feed silver coins into a machine. There’s no clotheslines to steal clothing off of, so I wait.

I wait until it’s dark and I can move without being found out. At the very least, people will assume I’m drunk, and not a werewolf.

 

There’s no hiding in the hallway of Yuuri’s building, but I don’t care. He’s so close, I can feel every cell in my body singing. I can smell him from the hallway, the soft remnants of him hanging in the air. I knock on the cheap wood door, and Phichit answers.

 

“Wh--- oh my god,” His jaw drops open. “Viktor,”

 

“Hi,” I feel less brave standing in front of him. It’s not my body-- but the fact that I sat, counting down the seconds until I could visit here without considering if anyone wanted to see me.

 

“Hi! This is lit!”

 

“Sorry?” I have no idea what he’s saying-- it’s early spring, but I feel like the furthest thing from fire.

 

“Come in. Please, before we get any more weird looks from neighbors!” Phichit grabs my arm and pulls me inside. Everything in the apartment is the same. The pillow I used is still sitting on the couch, and the blanket is folded neatly over the back.

 

“Where… is he?” The words slip out before I realize how rude I can be. (am being..)

 

“He’s, uh, in his bed. He’s running a fever…. Again.” Phichit pulls my blanket off the couch and tosses it across the room to me. I wrap it around my waist-- all my clothes stayed behind with Yuuri.

 

“Again?” The smile that’s been pulling at my face all day fades.

 

“Yeah, he seems to be getting one every month… ever since the Big One.” Phichit shrugs.  “This is the second one since you’ve been gone. I got him to eat, but he’s probably sleeping again.

 

We stand in a moment of silence before my feet carry me to Phichit and Yuuri’s shared bedroom. The light is on, but Yuuri is out, tangled in a mess of blankets on top of the bed. He’s only wearing boxer-briefs, which is rare… and worrying. At least, for as much as I knew him.

I kneel down next to him and smooth back his hair. The baby hairs near his ears and at his hairline are slicked down with sweat, and his forehead has a permanent crease of troubled sleep.  His torso is covered with pink scars instead of stitches now. Forgetting myself, I trace the biggest scar that follows the line of his rib cage.

 

He wakes up.


	29. Yuuri- Return

 

**Yuuri**

**70 F 21 C (inside)**

 

“Yuuri, I have fingers now!” He says with the stupidest grin. He’s so cheesy, but he’s real, and it’s  _ Viktor.  _ I can’t help it, tears immediately filling my eyes before I can piece together a single word.

I’m not good with words anyway-- I never have been.  Minako said that I have a different way of communicating,  but right now I don’t. I feel like shit, but  _ Viktor _ appearing by my bed is too much. 

I don't know what we are.. If we are anything.  But I sit up, turning and wrapping my arms around him. My world tips-- dizzy from moving too far too fast, but Viktor squeezes me into place. I can feel his cheek against mine, and it’s colder than any washcloth Phichit or my mom has given me during a fever.  It’s nice...really nice, but Viktor is the one who sighs happily.

“I missed you,” He says, and I can feel his deep voice reverberate in his chest.

 

“I saw you two days ago,” I say, the words coming out faint and scratchy. I’m sick… again. The third time since the fever that got me pushed into a snowbank and snacked on.  Ciao Ciao has driven me to class more times than I can count-- Phichit would know, because it's his fault. Any time I show the smallest symptom-- a sniffle or a slow practice-- and Phichit reports it to our coach.

 

Viktor blinks, his smile shrinking by a small fraction. “Oh?”

 

I nod and immediately regret it. This fever came with a splitting headache. “Mnh. Behind the church.”

 

“I….” Viktor gets a far-away look on his face, before shaking his head. “You were leaving food for me, weren’t you?”

 

The way he says it makes me squirm. I consider saying no-- but I’m a horrible liar too.

 

“You said...it was a hard winter.” I end up saying instead. It’s not an answer, but it’s not an admission either.  Phichit hasn’t said anything about the loss of freezer room, or the plastic-bag wrapped bundles stuffed in the corner. I’m glad that we rarely eat frozen food, and that Viktor noticed.

 

He kisses me on the forehead. I sputter, my spine twisting with a shiver of something (pleasure ?)when he strokes his thumb against the side of my face.

 

“Stop. You’ll get sick.” I croak. I hate myself instantly. I want more, but I haven’t brushed my teeth in ages, I’m sweaty and I haven’t eaten more than canned soup and dining hall pasta for a week. I’m a disaster.


	30. Viktor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its my birthday today! I got to enjoy the cherry blossoms at their peak. I really wish I had written a cherry blossom scene into this fic, but I didn't. Instead, its going to be sad. :D

Viktor  
70F 21 C

Yuuri is beautiful.

He breaks my heart when he cries as soon as he opens his eyes. I dread hurting him-- doing anything to him, but then he forgives me by wrapping his arms around me.  
He’s burning up-- warm from head to toe, sticky with sweat. But I keep him close-- closer than I could as a wolf. I kiss him, because I can, and he blushes. I only stop because he asks me to, and I have spent enough time worrying Yuuri.

My time as a wolf is a blur smeared into a question mark. Yuuri does his best to update me, but I lose him bit by bit. He lays back down, then closes his eyes to stave off his headache. One thought takes too long, and he falls back asleep, the crease in his brow smoothed out. I want him for longer, but I take what I can get.  
Their fridge is the definition of a broke college student-- there’s some old takeout containers,, a half-empty jar of strawberry jam and a lonely container of tofu.

The freezer…. I shuffle through it, pulling away layers of white plastic grocery bags. The freezer is full of frozen meat, large chunks of bone and sinew I can feel my phantom jaw sinking teeth into.

I close the freezer and decide to forget what I’ve seen.

I vaguely remember a convenience store between the apartment and Chad Coffee, but it won’t do. Yuuri’s laptop is nowhere to be seen, and Phichit’s disappeared somewhere, leaving Yuuri in my hands.

Yuuri gave me permission months ago, and I hope it still stands today. I find his phone on the counter, plugged in and face-down. It’s still in its blue poodle case with dented corners from dropping it so much.

My throat grows thick when I pushed the power button and a white wolf lights up on the screen.  
It’s not that it could be any wolf--I have no idea what I look like when I shed my human skin. It could be a stock image for all I know. It’s the fact that it is a wolf-- the animal that pushed Yuuri down into a snowbank, the animals that tried to pull out Yuuri’s life with their teeth...the animal that I become.

Does Yuuri hide it from Phichit? His coach? Isn’t it strange, staring at a photo of something that almost killed you?

It has to be me. I could be self-centered, but I remember the blurry face of a human. The image of a human, the picture of food. Mine, not a picture, not a word but a concept.

His home screen is the last selfie we took-- courtesy of Phichit and his selfie pole, sitting on the couch together. Phichit leaning easily into Yuuri’s side, slyly pressing him into my chest. It’s the picture I want to hold onto, the ones with human words and light touches and red cheeks.

There’s a grocer half a mile from the apartment. My wallet sits on top of the pile of clothes we bought and I never wore. There’s no ID, but sandwiched in the middle is an envelope from Liam. The stamp is from last week-- if he noticed how early I asked him to forward my bank card, I’d be amazed. The wolves are just waking up. Liam is busy enough taking care of humans who don’t want to be, and wolves that lost that choice.

But I get to take care of Yuuri.

He wakes up three hours later, dragging his feet into the living room, wrapped up in his blanket like a burrito. His eyelids are heavy behind his blue frames, but he smiles the second he sees me.

“Good morning,” I stir the pot on the stove again, even though I just got finished doing so.

“It’s nine pm,” Phichit says from the couch. He returned an hour ago, using his freedom to return with a drugstore bag full of medicine and Yuuri’s laptop. He’s spent the entire time inside a spell circle of Pre-Med textbooks and notes with a pinched look on his face.

“Hungry?” I continue, and Yuuri nods, shuffling the rest of the way into the kitchen. He paused, resting his fingers delicately on my arm.

“Is something wrong?” I stop, turning to face him. I desparately want to tuck him under my chin and hug him close. He’s the perfect size for that, and once I realize that I can’t get the thought out of my head.

“...was making sure you were real,” Yuuri mumbles shyly, looking at the stove instead of me. He licks his lips-- they’re chapped. A smarter me would take my Chanel chapstick and swipe it across his lips and sweep Yuuri off his feet.

But Viktor Nikiforov’s fortune is frozen in Russia. All I have is what I could withdraw before they froze my accounts for suspicious activity. A few extra zeros from working transient summer jobs.  
The ashes of my last season’s costume still probably line Liam’s fireplace.

I wish I hadn’t been so dramatic. That Liam hadn’t been so thorough.

“Beef stew,” I gesture with a flourish. “To put color back in your complexion.”

Yuuri touches the pile of potato and onion peels still sitting on the countertop. “You... made this?” He says in what I hope is awe. 

“Well… I thought it was a good idea.” I stutter. I can’t tell him why I spent several hours when America has perfectly fine mass-produced food in every grocer. Telling him that my mother would do the same for me, stirring wishes for good health into the stew with each turn of the ladle.

“Thank you,” Yuuri smiles, and the anxiety hammering at the inside of my chest stops. The way he curls up with the bowl is a panacea to every negative thought I’ve had since waking up in this skin.  
Phichit takes his share of the meal in a mug, doing his best to drink from it while studying another fifty-page slideshow.

“Good luck on your….test?” I break the silence. Yuuri eats slowly, pulling the spoon from his mouth clean after each bite.

“Case studies. I have to pass this so I can do my clinic internship in the fall.” Phichit doesn’t stop reading.

“Is there anything about werewolves?” Yuuri asks.

Phichit’s face flashes with annoyance, but it disappears before he turns to his friend. “No, but I know all the symptoms of chlamydia.”

Yuuri ignores Phichit, setting his spoon in his bowl. “It’s… kind of like a disease, isn’t it?”

This is enough for Phichit to abandon his studies and turn. “Huh?” He says, resting his hands on his knees.

“You turn into a wolf based on temperature...but you change back when it’s warm. When it's safe to be… naked, I guess.” Yuuri mumbles, becoming less confident in his thought process as he talks. “It’s… nothing… I just.. Had a lot of time to think.. And you were going on about how a lot of symptoms are the body just trying to deal with something going on.”

Phichit doesn’t turn away from Yuuri, his eyes bright and far away. “Are you saying… it’s something that can be cured?”

“No,” Yuuri sputters. “Maybe? You said not everything has a cure, just a prevention.”

“Maybe it CAN be,” Phichit lights up, before twirling back to his pile of books. “Check in with me in two weeks.”


	31. Yuuri

Yuuri  
69 F 20 C Inside

Something about Viktor’s cooking is magical. I wake up the next morning feeling better than I have in days. The fever and alternating chills are gone. I almost feel like I can go for a full day of practice.

Not that it would happen, anyway. Phichit and Ciao Ciao have not let up, even months after the ‘incident’. I may be completely healed, but I’m already nervous about my next season.

Except.. I shouldn’t be. Part of my brain reminds me that if I’m competing, then I won’t be here to protect or feed the wolves. The part of my brain that goes Viktor Viktor Viktor Viktor Viktor.

The part of my brain that is louder now, because he’s no longer just a ghost on the couch. He’s really here-- he sings in the shower, he makes too much coffee. He shuffles around the apartment wearing one of my college sweatshirts too. Viktor isn’t a very good singer either, but my heart squeezes just the same. I’ve only known this Viktor for a month-- he’s been a memory for a few months, and a dream for years before that.

I’m glad he’s real, because I am ready to get back to living. It’s important I do too-- It’s Phichit’s birthday. He’ll be in class all day, but it gives me enough time to work on his present.

I’m bad at surprises, but Phichit says that's a nice thing. He always knows what to expect from me. Every year it will be birthday brownies. I only ever get creative enough to decorate the pan of brownies differently. Last year, when he turned 21, the brownies were soaked in kahlua. I hope they were good, because I don’t remember what happened, and they were gone the next morning. My dream is to be able to do a picture in M&M or skittles, but the closest I’ve ever gotten is a few rings of Hershey kisses.

“What are you doing, Yuuri?” Viktor laughs when I jump a foot in the air. He finally finished his routine every hair perfectly set in place. He’s wearing my favorite hoodie-- its soft even after a year going through the apartment’s shitty washers-- but I don’t mind.

“Oh, uh..” I play with the bottle of canola oil on the counter. “It’s Phichit’s birthday, so I was going to make something for him.”

“Ah. So that explains the…” He gestures to the flu mask pulled over my mouth and nose.

“Um. Yes. He hasn’t caught anything from me yet, but he said he’d kill me if I did.” I mutter. This year’s plan is a little sad-- dollar store brownie mix and a can of cavity-inducing blue icing. The snacks I have saved from my mom’s care package will more than make up for it though.

“Can I help?” He smiles-- it’s the one I’ve only seen in this apartment-- heart-shaped, and his eyes wrinkle in the corners. I feel suddenly really warm, and I turn away before I can embarrass myself any more

“Wash your hands.” I point to the sink, which still has the soap suds from the surgical scrubbing I did a few minutes ago. He does so, before hovering just behind me

“It’s a very complicated recipe.” I play with the cardboard box-- I had to buy eggs just for the brownies, and I already have them on the counter. Eggs, oil, and water. If I was at home, and had my mom, it would be shortcake with strawberries and hand-whipped cream. But the last strawberries I had were at Ciao Ciao’s New Years party. I don’t want to think about how much it would cost, especially now with my re-worked budget. Most of my spare money was going to meat, and my monthly contribution to snacks has been strictly within top-ramen territory.

“Hm… We should be quiet, so we won’t collapse the batter,” Viktor sounds deadly serious tapping his lower lip with his forefinger.

“What?” I frown. “It’s… flour.. And… chocolate, I guess.” It’s not even out of the box, or the plastic bag inside either.

Viktor just smiles.

“Yuuri,”

I turn back, peeling the box top back and pulling out the bag of brownie mix. “Huh?”

“May I kiss you?”

“Uh? Okay?” I can feel my entire sweater get coated in a fine dust of pre-brownie. The bag crinkles in my hands when he pushes the flu mask down onto my neck. Before I can tell him its a bad idea, his lips lightly touch mine. It’s awkward. I make it really awkward, twisted and standing at an angle. I immediately want a do-over, but… how do you ask for that? You don’t, you just end up a bad kisser.

But Viktor is extremely patient with me. He stays close, his breath warm on my skin when I turn to face him fully. His eyes close, and I realize for the first time that his eyelashes are blonde too. He smells like cocoa, or maybe I do, but it doesn’t matter. He lets me kiss him again. I’m still nervous as hell, but this time I can taste chapstick on his lips. He chases after mine, kissing me back hungrily. This is way past Chad coffee do-you-like-me and has moved right into maybe-I’m-hallucinating territory.


	32. Viktor

Viktor  
69 F 20C

Yuuri’s hips bump into the counter, and I’m close enough to feel it happen. Make it happen.

It goes way further than I expected, but I couldn’t ask for anything less. He’s still holding onto the brownie mix with a death grip. He hesitates, but when he kisses me back, it's good enough that I feel a jolt of pleasure fire up my spine. Of course it would be good-- it’s Yuuri. It’s my snowbank boy, all soft and warm and round. He takes my split second of jaw-dropping surprise to kiss into my open mouth. I cup his cheeks as his teeth pull at my bottom lip. He’s just as hungry as I am. It’s clumsy and awkward but awfully delicious. His hips press into mine, and the brownie mix drops to the kitchen floor with a thwack.

“Oh! Shit!” Yuuri’s eyes widen in panic and he dives to the floor. “No no no!”

“I--I’m sorry, that’s my fault,” I drop to the floor next to him. Nothing is lost except for a light dusting of the mix, but the scare has stolen Yuuri’s breath from him. His eyes are wide, cheeks flushed beautifully and he pulls at his hair.

“Yuuri, it’s okay,” I say slowly, going to sweep up the small spill with the side of my palm.

“I-- I know!” His voice is a little too loud, and he swallows nervously, his breathing still not under control. “I can’t believe I did that, I’m such a mess, this is a disaster,” He mutters, trying to roll the top of the plastic down.

I reach for it at the same time, and our hands knock into each other. Instead of another romantic moment, he draws back like I was fire.  
It hurts, a little.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” He stutters, hiding his face in his hands. “I have… a lot of problems.”

The way he says it-- his voice so small, his shoulders pulling with the effort of lost breath… It makes me want to pull him closer and comfort him until it goes away. But if a hand is too much, a hug is out of the question.  
“Don’t we all?” I end up saying, crouching on the kitchen floor. He goes still before his eyes fill with tears.

Oh god.

“Yuuri?” I say, and the tears only spill over his cheeks.

“I’m sorry-- I don’t know what to do with someone who is crying.” It’s my turn to panic now, but Yuuri just smiles. He wipes his cheeks on his sleeve, picking up the brownie mix and setting it back on the counter.

“Don’t be-- It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m sorry… for making it weird,” He looks at the kitchen counter instead, his beautifully shaped brows furrowing as he studies the only mixing bowl in the house.

“No,” I breathe. “It was great.” I can’t help but lick my lips, trying to remember the taste and feel of Yuuri. He turns his back to me, but I can see him flush to the tips of his ears. I wait, quietly. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Yuuri panic, but this is different from the panic that bubbled up during a study session with Phichit. I’m the reason for it-- or maybe the brownies. If it was really me, he’d run away. That’s what he does, I know, but something is there between us that keeps him here.

I let him be quiet until his breath comes out in a frustrated grunt. I step forward, only to see his hands tremble, shaking enough that he doesn’t trust himself to pour the cooking oil into a measuring spoon.  
“Can I help?” Yuuri nods and almost moves to hand me the spoon, but I cup my hand over his. His hands are incredibly warm, the opposite of mine. Mine are cold and pale, and it's only because of the blood rushing through my veins and my heart beating fast on the ice that I get by without gloves during competitions. Three years ago, they would have been well manicured and cared for too. Now my hands are rough, ghosts of who I am in the winter.  
Yuuri’s are still soft, even with jagged, bitten nails and cuticles that beg for a little loving.

Yuuri looks up at me expectantly, giving me a look that snaps me out of my stupid reverie. I leave it, wondering if Yuuri would let me treat his hands the way they deserve. 

“Two tablespoons.” He says, his voice even, but soft and flat with exhaustion.

“These are a little small for a table,” I say, and he giggles. He manages to break the eggs perfectly into the bowl, splitting the shell perfectly in half. He looks at me again, before flushing. 

“Don’t look so amazed. I grew up cracking a lot of eggs for my family’s bathhouse.”  
I wish I could tell him that it's not the egg cracking that’s amazing. It’s the shape of his hands in mine, the graceful movements of his hands so soon after he was trembling. There is so much of him to be amazed at, I cannot pinpoint just one thing.

I almost think I’m in love.


	33. Yuuri-Authentic

**Yuuri**

 

**57F  13 C**

 

It feels really weird at first. Set free by the warming sun, Viktor follows me everywhere, his hand folded around mine. He presses his leg against mine on the bus… kisses me on the cheek when we’re in line at the grocery store. When we cook dinner together, he stands next to me, dancing his fingers on the small of my back when he needs to step around me. 

 

I always thought I hated people touching me. My first few months in Detroit I had to take a freshman prep course designed to help international students integrate. All the American ‘mentors’ were girls, and they all hugged everyone they met.  It always felt a little...wrong. Every professor kept it to handshakes, and I could never figure out how long to hold on to either.

 

But it's different with Viktor.  

 

He starts out slow, and each light touch makes my stomach jump… in a nice way.  Like a spark. It’s good, only because I realize that I miss it after a long day of exams and an extended practice with Celestino.  

Viktor is like a drug. One I have to keep hidden away.  I know he wants to enter the rink, but he won’t. The ice is cold enough that it could make him change.  Nevermind the fact that it’s a training center, and Celestino would recognize him right away.

 

To the rest of the world, Viktor Nikiforov is still missing.  It may have been long enough that we can walk down the street… but walking up to Celestino would be stupid.

 

So… I feel a little scandalous sometimes, keeping Viktor all to myself. But I definitely don’t feel sorry about it.

 

Summer quarter doesn’t start until late July, and I only have one class. Graduating later doesn’t seem so bad anymore, knowing that someone is out there somewhere in Michigan, waiting for me. The more I can delay finishing my business degree and helping run Yuutopia, the happier I will be. The future can wait.

 

“Yuuri, let’s go on a date,” Viktor sings on a Saturday morning, when the high is in the 70s and Ciao Ciao has called off practice in order to go on a picnic with his daughter.

I feel my face go warm immediately.  I don’t know why he’s inspired to go on a date-- I haven’t brushed my hair yet, I’m still in pajamas, and my feet look like a disaster.  There’s nothing romantic about all the bandages and moleskin I’m applying to my feet. The Olympics are coming up, and the JSF sent Celestino a new pair of boots for me to wear at competitions. They’re from a Japanese company and are embroidered The leather is a lot stiffer than what I’m used to. 

“Look. There’s a dim sum restaurant near the mall, and it has a five-star review!” Viktor throws my phone in my face.

 

“I don’t know,” I mumble, immediately finding the “$$” on the review summary. It’s expensive, and my scholarship disbursement for the fall quarter is a long 14 weeks away.

 

“I want to treat you. Please.” Viktor smiles, his soft heart-shaped one that I never saw on all the videos and pictures I’ve collected over my embarrassing life.

 

“It’s laundry day…” I mumble, even though my mouth waters at the Instagram photos of the restaurant offerings.

 

“I’ll choose your outfit,” Viktor floats off to our bedroom (it's easier to say our than Phichit-Yuuri-and-Viktor’s-room). Phichit doesn't say anything from his perch on the other end of the couch, but he smirks knowingly.

 

Viktor comes back twenty minutes later with a neatly folded pile of clothes and smelling like his mint hair oil.  He looks perfect, and I still look like I rolled out of bed after a hard night. Viktor still looks at me the same way as he does when we dressed up in a suit and tie and went to a wine bar. He’s ridiculous, but that’s why I love him.

 

He didn’t even pick out a fancy outfit-- it’s another pair of my jeans, the cuffs still rolled up to where I like wearing them, a blue and white shirt and a darker blue button-up shirt I guess I’m supposed to put on top it. Viktor is...really into layers. He is wearing a low cut V-neck black shirt with a grey sports jacket over it, even though I know it's hotter than it ever gets in Russia. I don’t understand it, but Viktor looks happy, and that’s all I care about.

 

“Should I…?” I feel suddenly self-conscious, running my hands through my hair. Viktor taps his mouth with his pointer finger, before smiling. “No. Your true Eros is best brought out at night.”

 

“Oookay,” I breathe, going to the bathroom to change. Phichit and I usually don’t bother-- we’ve changed in front of each other in the locker room countless times… but I can feel Viktor watching me, and somehow, it’s different.

 

His hand slips easily over mine when he leaves the apartment.  Even though I was probably warmer, I still missed being outside. It’s not as hot as it can be back home, but it's warm enough to remind me of summer. I could always practice more during summer and, during break, I would spend nearly all of my free time at the rink.

 

Somewhere I’m too scared to go to with Viktor.

 

He curls away from air-conditioners. He even shys away from the ice in his water glass at Jade Garden Dim Sum. It’s not exactly what I’d imagine Viktor choosing. The lighting is dim, and the floor is covered in white and grey linoleum. There’s a couple of older couples playing mah-jong, and most of the food is hidden behind a steam table and glass walls. I’m sure Viktor imagined dark carpet and jade trees and rich wood… but it looks like the back of someone’s house was turned into a kitchen.  It kind of reminds me of Tanaka’s-- the noodle stand down the street from my high school. It felt like sitting in his house, too. Tanaka drew-- a lot, and the walls were covered with charcoal drawings of his favorite enka singer. He would talk endlessly about her-- even play an old vinyl record of her. But he was the best 300 yen spent in Saga. Phichit and I went to a diner that advertised ‘american home cooking’, and all we got was stomach aches and too much gravy. We took our food to go after Phichit texted me his suspicion that the waitress was high.

 

“Oh,” Viktor frowns at the menu, which is mostly hanzi. “This is very.. Authentic.”


	34. Viktor- Dim Sum

Viktor  
65F 18C

Yuuri laughs at me, which makes me feel a little better. I’m used to pointing, or figuring out ‘what's your recommendation’ in whatever language of the country I am visiting.. But we’re in Detroit, and it's been months since I’ve heard a second language that wasn’t Spanish SAP on Yuuri’s cable TV.

“Well.. this has pork.. And this is probably chicken legs..” Yuuri leans over me, and I feel suddenly warm as his shoulder presses into mine. He pushes his glasses up his nose, peering at the slightly sticky laminated menu. “What Instagram did you find this on?”

“It said Detroit Eats.” I whine, but Yuuri just grins at me, humoring me. The old lady pushing around a cart stops next to him. She doesn’t even look at me, cracking her permanent frown to smile at Yuuri. He loads up the table with small plates of assorted soft white buns and lumps.

“What’s this?” I ask, once the old lady has pushed the hot case cart to another table.

“Um.. Har gow…” Yuuri frowns, before offering a sheepish smile that makes me want to melt. “Sometimes it’s better not to ask, and just try it.”

“Great! I didn’t ask if you were a picky eater.. I mean… if there was some things you can’t eat.” I stumble over my words. Yuuri just picks up a tiny steamed bun with metal chopsticks.

“My mom didn’t have time to make food, so I had to eat what there was, or go hungry.” Yuuri shrugs, and I hope he doesn’t notice me watching him eat. How his cheeks round up with the bun in his mouth, and he chews thoughtfully.   
Before I know it, he’s holding out the second bun on the dish to me. I clumsily grab my chopsticks, before he pulls back.

“No! I mean, stop! That’s bad luck.” He dodges my hand, pressing the fluffy bun up to my lips. “I mean, I don’t know about in Hong Kong…”  
“Dim sum is from hong kong?”

“I think? What, did you think it was Japanese?” Yuuri’s crooked smile is back, but I can’t decide if I want to watch his face or his hands as they deftly tear a pork bun neatly in half.

“N...no… I just thought it looked good.”

Any words I have left die on my lips when Yuuri stuffs half a pork bun into his mouth. His eyes squeeze shut, and he wiggles a little, the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen on his glistening lips.

“Oshii.” He mumbles through a mouthful, and he lifts up the rest of the bun, holding a hand under it to catch any of the filling that might drop out. “Try it.” He chews and swallows. “It’s like I had at home. “

 

“Home?” My voice comes out a little too high. Home is where Yuuri is. I don’t think of Russia, or even at the house Liam gave me a key to three years ago. I think about the hideous couch in the living room and the scent of Yuuri’s shampoo hanging heavy in the air after a shower.

“Japan,” Yuuri pulls more plates toward him, stacking the two empty ones we’ve made. “I thought you knew,”

“Oh, I know.” I swallow. I’ve seen him in every national competition and NHK trophy that's been uploaded to the internet. I follow the Instagram dedicated to Yuuri’s thighs. “I just… I think of the apartment, that’s all.”

“I haven’t visited Japan since I moved here,” Yuuri moves a shrimp dumpling onto the plate closest to me, before putting one into his mouth. “The time I have off is the “busy season” for my parents, and I’m enough of a burden.”

He says it so easily, my heart squeezes, and I want to make sure those words never leave his lips again.

“We should go together,” I say too fast, and by the time I realize what I’ve said, Yuuri is already cherry-red. He sucks at the end of his chopsticks, averting his gaze to study the many small plates on the table in front of us.

“I… I’d like that.”


	35. Viktor

**Viktor**

**68F  20C**

 

The floating feeling I get from Yuuri inviting me to Japan lasts the entire day.  It washes away any doubts I have. I don’t care that Yuuri has yet to reach out to hold my hand, or that he’s never initiated a kiss. It’s just nice to initiate a touch and have him lean into it. To see the blush bloom on his cheeks and a smile curve his lips. 

 

I don’t do it as much in the apartment. Partially because Phichit will drop everything to look scandalized, and partially because I’m tired of it. I walk Yuuri to class and spend days in coffee shops when I can’t spend it with him.

 

It’s been years since I was a news item,  but Detroit is a bigger city and there’s still a possibility that someone will recognize me.  I keep to wearing a hat from Yuuri’s university bookstore. Yuuri immediately vetoed sunglasses, telling me that he doesn’t want to be seen with someone who looks like a bank robber.  I look for more hats on the Ave during my free time (which is all the time.) I could just cut my hair or dye it, but the look on Yuuri’s face killed that plan too.

 

Luckily, when I stick to the campus people don’t bother looking too closely.  There’s hundreds of college students working at the surrounding businesses, and they’re all too tired to care.

 

Yuuri looks frazzled when he comes out one of his glasses. His backpack is heavy with books and he still has his electronic dictionary in the pocket of his hoodie. It’s summer, but, apparently, it's not hot enough for Yuuri.

 

“I forgot we have to do a team presentation this week.” is the first thing he says to me.

“Hello, Yuuri. I missed you too.” I smile, but I regret my teasing at the guilt on his face. “Do you need to go back?”

 

“We’re meeting up in a study room in an hour to hammer out the final details, and then I have to work on my report--”

 

“Good. An hour will be good enough.” I steer him toward the student union building.

 

“We don’t have time to go back to the apartment--” Yuuri stutters.

“I know!” I sing. I decide it’s better to surprise him. I’ve seen posters everywhere advertising ‘Stress getting to you? Come pet some puppers! Special guests: kittens and Bean the guinea pig!” and I know it will do Yuuri some good.

 

Yuuri lets me push him into the building, shuffling his feet. My insides turn to goo and the soft coo that escapes him as soon as we get close enough to the student lounge  . There’s a low wall set up in one of the lounges, and puppies run around freely over pee-pad covered flooring. There’s some senior dogs from the shelter that is sponsoring it, and there’s a student who looks like they have reached nirvana with a german shepard in their lap. 

 

Yuuri drops his backpack with a loud thud at my feet and steps over the low wall. He sits down in an empty corner, taking a  squirt of hand sanitizer from a volunteer with a bow of his head. 

 

I don’t need to see the entire cast of puppies waddling over to Yuuri to fall in love--with the dogs or Yuuri. I knew he was a dog person, but to see it in person is going to give me diabetes. He takes turns rubbing bellies and cooing at the hoard of dogs that have surrounded him.  A volunteer taps me on the arm before I realize that I’m staring. Yuuri hasn’t noticed that I haven’t joined him yet, but I can’t be jealous. When I move closer, rubbing the alcohol over my hands, I can hear exactly what he’s saying.

“Are you a dog? Yes, you are, oh you are! What a dog! “ and “Belly belly belly!” 

He says some things in Japanese that I don’t understand, but exude the same energy. He doesn’t complain when a pit bull puppy licks inside his mouth or when an old shepard sticks its nose inside his ear.

 

He’s glowing when I finally find room to sit next to him.  I want to take his smile and keep it in my pocket, saving the warmth for forever.  He plops a poodle mix in my lap. She sniffs at me curiously, and I wonder if they can tell that I am part wolf. They are more cautious around me than Yuuri, but soon I am enveloped in the swarm of puppies.  We’re hogging them, but I don’t really care. 

 

This is the first time in years that I’ve been happy enough to miss this. I’ve always been so stuck in surviving the summer, trying to forget my past and keep my head above the water…  its been a long time since I’ve enjoyed myself.

 

Yuuri stops cooing at the pups and stares at me, his smile dissolving into concern.  

 

“You’re crying…” He doesn’t offer me a tissue, he just stares. It’s kind of nice-- I don’t really want it to be acknowledged.  It’s enough a struggle to explain it.

 

“I…. miss Makka.” I choke out. I hide it with a laugh as a scruffy looking mutt goes to lick at my face, wiping the tears away for me.

 

Yuuri scoots closer to me, his side pressing into mine. The puppies press in closer, and while I think Yuuri’s intention was to surround me with more dogs, his weight is more comforting.

 

We spend the entire time with the dogs, and Yuuri tucks a five dollar bill into their donation box.  

 

“Crap. I’m going to be late.” Yuuri mutters when we leave the building after a prolonged goodbye to the dogs. His hoodie is coated in dog hair and his pants have a stain from a wipe from cleaning off an ‘oopsie’ from one of the younger puppies.

 

“Don’t feel like you have to walk with me,” I say, and we come to a stop. Yuuri turns, bounding from foot to foot. The smile is still on his face, and he squeezes his eyes shut before his lips even make contact with mine.

 

It’s quick-- I barely have time to process it before Yuuri waves and shouts “Thank you!” and jogs toward the library, his face purposefully tucked in toward his chest. 


	36. Phichit

**Phichit**

**68F 20 C**

 

“You sure look stupidly lovestruck for someone who came home alone.” I drawl more dramatically than I need to. 

 

“Yuuri has to work on  a project, and I like to think I can function without him,” Viktor answers lightly. 

 

“Be honest-- you’re lost without your...boyfriend? Lover? What are you guys anyway?”

 

Viktor drops dramatically onto the couch. “I don’t know.”

 

That’s it. I HAVE to address this.  Apoptosis mechanisms can wait.

 

“You don’t know? Yuuri can be a dumb baby gay sometimes, but he’s not stupid.”

 

“We like each other. He kissed me today.” Viktor says it breathlessly, like they had an entire moment on red square or something. 

 

“You mean he kissed you first, right? Cause I’ve seen you two…” I trail off, just because I am not Dr. Phil, and I know Yuuri. He’s had a crush on Viktor since he started puberty. He very plainly told me that he had never dated anyone, and he refused my offer of a hockey player guy I noticed staring at his butt one day after practice. There’s no question Yuuri likes Viktor, and that Yuuri has no idea how to date anyone. He’s been too busy focusing on skating.

 

“Yeah. But… it’s not like we’re official.”

 

“What, facebook official? Do you even know what Facebook is?” I start to wonder. It is hard to tell whether or not he is an airhead or really does live under a rock.

 

“We haven’t put a name to it. I don’t think it matters, does it? I like him, and I get to spend time with him.”

 

“That’s called a friend, Viktor.” I shut my laptop because this is going to require more effort than I thought. “You should know that the only sappy romantic that is sappier than me in this forsaken country is Yuuri Katsuki.”

 

“R---romantic?”

 

“The most.  Yuuri has seen more rom-coms than me. I mean, it's good he only has eyes for you, or he’d be insufferable over Valentine’s day…”

 

“He...what?”

 

Oh my god, he is stupid after all.

 

“Yuuri has it so bad for you, dude.  Court him. Court the hell out of him. Bring him flowers, kiss his hand.  Buy him chocolates. Maybe not that, he’s kind of freaky over his diet. Sing to him.  Actually, I’m pretty sure just asking to call him your boyfriend will do it.”

 

Viktor looks like the entire earth has moved under his feet.

 

“I… I have to go.” He gets up and puts his shoes back on. 

 

Finally.


	37. Yuuri

**Yuuri**

**67 F 19C**

 

It’s already after five and the end is nowhere in sight. Jessica, I think her name is, won’t compromise on our business plan.  I stopped listening to her reasoning a while ago when I realized she used a lot more words than she needed to. She’s talking about consumers and end-products when my phone buzzes.

 

Victor <3: What room are you in

 

                      D-120, why?

 

I text back before setting my phone face down back on the worn wooden table.

 

“The assignment isn’t about consumers, it’s the budget. Right, Yuuri?”  Abdulahi looks pointedly at me.

 

“Um… yeah?” It’s barely been 30 seconds since I replied to Viktor before the door opens.

 

“Hi!” Viktor sing-songs, and I’m about to die of embarrassment before I smell the food.  “I brought Thai food, I hope its okay!”

 

“We’re not supposed to…. Okay..” My voice drops as Viktor drops four plastic bags worth of food onto the table. No one else is protesting, and he made it through the entire building without being stopped. There’s no point in fighting it now.

 

“Got to keep your energy up, you know.” Viktor smiles.  Viktor slides over a styrofoam container to me and a set of chopsticks.

 

“Your boyfriend is a hero, Yuuri,” Jessica says through a mouthful of noodles.  Viktor goes still as a statue, a smile frozen on his face. It’s his polite one-- closed tight instead of his dorky wide heart-shaped one.

 

“Um. Yeah, he is.”  I watch him instantly relax even as my face burns red.  I don’t think he ever asked me out, but he isn’t mad at me for not correcting Jessica.

 

“My boyfriend deserves the best.” Viktor sings,  pulling a chair closer to me. My heart is going to beat out of my chest.

 

“You don’t talk about him a lot.” Jessica hums. Abdulahi gives her a look.   We haven’t talked to each other all quarter, which is why we have to rush to finish the project.

 

“He’s always with him on campus.” Sarah waves a spoonful of panang curry at Jessica. I decide that Sarah is my best friend, even if she never comes to class on time.

 

“Yuuri is a doer, not a talker.” Viktor takes my hand and kisses it before I have enough brain power to pull it away.  “These reminded me of you.” 

 

He pulls out a bouquet of lilies, and it’s almost too much. I feel dizzy when the cellophane wrapping crinkles in my fingers. They smell strong, along with the spice from the curry and pad thai, and the heat in my face… it all leads to a short circuit in my brain.

 

“Aww. He’s embarrassed.” Jessica sings. 

 

“I-- uh---can we?” I grab Viktor’s hand and pull him out of the study room and down the hall to the men’s restroom.   He doesn’t hesitate, but he looks worried when I turn to him.

 

“Was that too much?” Viktor folds his arms over his chest, and I get distracted by his muscles for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No! No, I mean… It was okay. It was good. Great. But… why?” I lay against the cool brick wall, willing my heart to calm down.

 

“Because I wanted to. Because you deserve it, Yuuri.”  Viktor looks a little lost.

 

“I didn’t win anything…” The only time I’ve received flowers is at competitions I’ve medaled at.  The few ‘fans’ I have tend to throw plushies, and the majority of those get donated. 

 

“You won my heart,” Viktor says, completely serious.  Phichit would call it cheesy, but its a line right out of a movie. 

 

That’s it. I’m going to die. My soul has ascended. Goodbye world.

 

My brain went with it. The only thing I can do, the only right response, the next line in the script has me kissing him. 

 

I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing myself onto my toes to kiss him. It’s messy, and when his mouth drops open in surprise,  I use it to slip in my tongue. I don’t know what I’m doing. I probably taste like pad thai, but Viktor tastes like mint gum, and the noise he makes when I use my tongue makes my stomach leap pleasantly. His hand cups my face.

 

“So...we’re boyfriends, right?” I ask, and he doesn’t act like its a stupid question. He nods. Smiling his gorgeous heart-shaped smile. He kisses my forehead, and I melt into him.

 

“Thank you…” I whisper into his chest.

 

“No, thank you, Yuuri.” I can feel his voice in his chest.  I’m living a miracle-- the missing star of the skating world is here, with me. My boyfriend.

 

It doesn’t matter anymore that its a secret. That he can’t come with me to practice, or skate anymore. That we can’t post selfies online.  That it feels like a fairy tale-- my wolf is my hero. My love. 

 

In my dreams, I imagined competing against him on the same ice. In my wildest dreams, he coaches me. I’ve stupidly fantasized about him.

 

But this is real life, and he’s here, and he likes  _ me _ . Like I’m anyone special. I’m just a college student in a sport that I’ll retire from in a few years. I’m close to staying through the whole Grand Prix, but I’m not on Viktor’s level.

 

Not that he acts like he has a level.  He acts like I’m his equal. He always asks,  meeting me where I am, soft questioning touches while I just grab him and kiss him.

 

What did I do to deserve this?


	38. Viktor

Viktor  
70 F 21C  
There’s nothing more I want than an eternal summer. My time with Yuuri is too short. I spend most of my waking time with him, but it’s not enough.

He reaches out for me now. He leans into me in the kitchen. We hold hands until we part ways on campus at classroom doors. He goes from sharing the space on the couch to becoming my new blanket. It was like he was waiting for permission. I would have given it a million times over if meant having another day of this. 

It’s finally the weekend when Phichit makes Yuuri hold a thermometer in his mouth.

“You’re running a fever.” Phichit says with a frown. “Again.”

Yuuri doesn’t move from his spot curled into my side, his PSP propped up sideways on my knee.

“I know you’re used to it by now, but that's not normal. Maybe you’re immunocompromised.” Phichit washes the tiny machine off in the sink.

“I don’t know that much English, Peach.” Yuuri says from my side.

“Maybe you have a disease.” Phichit sighs.

“Talk to the clinic,” Yuuri says flatly, stretching out like a cat, “They have enough of my blood to make a new person.”

“I wouldn’t mind another Yuuri,” I say, trying to break the tension that's slowing growing in the room.

“I’m calling you out of practice,” Phichit calls from the kitchen. “Did you eat yet?”

“Yes!” I answer for Yuuri. I fed him oatmeal, even though his appetite disappears during the monthly fevers. He doesn’t fight me as much as he does with Phichit or Celestino. Today he seems okay with missing practice again. During the last fever he cried with frustration and ended up going back after a long two days. 

“Glad to hear you're already a married couple,” Phichit grunts, padding out of the kitchen and holding his phone to his ear. Yuuri ignores him. He grabs my hand from my knee, holding it close to his face out of nowhere.

“Yuuri?” I curl my hand around his, just because I can.

“Your nails are painted.”

I feel my cheeks burn. I tried a very light pink, an impulse buy at the Dollar Tree near the campus. I’ve had a manicure set for a few weeks, but it’s been years since I’ve regularly painted my nails.

“Yes… I was… bored?”

“They’re pretty.” Yuuri sets my hand back down and goes back to his video game. The panic in my chest simmers back down. Sometimes I forget that despite how he tries to hide it, Yuuri is a super fan. He knows my skates and costumes down to the day and year and where I placed better than I do. 

“Would you… could I do yours for you?”

“Oh… okay.” He wriggles away from my side, sitting up. I feel colder, but it’s pointless to complain when I have to get up anyway. I pull the manicure set out of the drawer of Yuuri’s dresser that I’ve taken over. It is definitely not from the Dollar Tree, but Yuuri doesn’t seem to mind.

He places his palm on top of mine. His nails are pretty neat and trim, but I clean up his cuticles. He watches curiously, his pinky curling and fidgeting despite himself. He makes a face when I brush nail oil onto his fingers, his knees brushing mine. 

“Can you… come closer?” I have no idea if that will make it easier or harder, but I don’t care. Yuuri scoots closer before he climbs into my lap. He relaxes into me as I hold support his hand with my left hand and paint with my other. The color stands out a bit more on his skin tone, a soft translucent pink gloss. It shimmers slightly, and on Yuuri’s body it makes me think of candy.  
“Don’t touch anything for a few minutes.” I cap the polish bottle, reaching around Yuuri to set it on the coffee table. He stays on my lap though, his hands posed in the air.

“I can’t touch anything?” He says incredulously.

“Not until it dries fully. It's still soft.” I wonder if this is his first time doing it. “It gives you time to relax.”

“Is that why you did it? Before?” Yuuri’s voice is soft and wonderous.

“When I was younger?”

“With your Grimoire costume at Worlds, and Swan Lake during Rostelecom Cup…. or there’s..”

Yuuri starts mumbling, his cheeks flushing when I can’t hold back laughing any longer.

“Yes, that’s why I did it. It helped soothe my nerves before competition. It’s been a while, but I figured I have enough time on my hands…”

“Are you bored?” Yuuri stiffens against me. “Maybe you can sign up for a class…”

“I’m fine, Yuuri. Really.” Detroit isn’t as furiatingly small as the town Liam brought me to. I honestly feel like I am still adjusting to the idea of summers with Yuuri. My life before was lonely, and my time as a human is too short to build lasting relationships. 

Or so I thought. 

“We can go into the city.” Yuuri is winding up slowly and I regret saying anything. 

“Yuuri, it’s fine. I like spending time with you .” He sways slightly when he crawls off my lap.   
“You need to rest.” 

“I am resting,” Yuuri snaps. “ I just… I’m sick of it. It’s going to be three days of the same thing. It doesn’t change. I’m not going to get any better any faster.”

“You don’t know that.” I feel stupid the moment I say it. It’s going to start a fight. I don’t want to fight. Yuuri deserves better.

“You don’t know. You got to be a wolf.” Yuuri’s voice is soft and sad.  
He doesn’t argue with me, or fight. I don’t feel relieved-- I feel guilty. Yuuri is not Samuel or Antoine….He doesn’t twist anything into a challenge or call me dramatic or ‘too much’. He knows every one of my skates, what I wore, what I medaled and talks about it like I am a hero, and not someone wasting their time. He hums while he does the dishes, and he blushes at the lightest, most chaste touch.   
He is Yuuri, his own, sweet person and I am achingly in love.

I try not to think about the longing behind his words.


	39. Yuuri &Obacchan

**Yuuri**

**71 F 22C**

It doesn’t take long for Viktor to cave in. Phichit goes to practice, and we get on the bus to the city. It’s not far to Inyo, the only Japanese-owned Japanese restaurant in the Greater Detroit area.  

 

Phichit and I visited a while ago--- before Viktor was more than a dream on a poster-- and it was  wonderful. I spoke my home language for the first time in months, and the chef ended up making me katsudon even though it wasn’t on the menu.

 

It didn’t compare to my mom’s cooking, but the waitress--  _ Obaachan, _ she had her call me-- sent us away without a bill and a bag full of heavy takeout containers for the next day.

 

It’s a few too many bus transfers and a little too socially exhausting to go every day, or even every week. But we’ve been going enough that this is the closest I will get to  having Viktor visit my family.

 

“If we go a little further, I read a blog that there is a trampoline party business.” Viktor stops talking abruptly when we finally step into the restaurant. It’s fairly simple looking-- all wooden and white walls with potted plants and ivy crawling up the walls.

 

“Yuuri!” the waitress-- self-dubbed grandma-- smiles and shuffles out from the kitchen. “Oh, handsome boyfriend too!” 

 

Viktor blushes too, finally. I didn’t think we were that obvious-- Viktor’s hand on my shoulder or around my waist feels natural  now.

 

“ _ Thank you, Obacchan,”  _ I slip into Saga dialect without meaning to, feeling too warm, tugging at my collar.

 

“ _ Come, sit. I’ll make him food so good he’ll move to Japan for good.” _

Viktor just smiles charmingly. I can tell he doesn’t understand a word, but he squeezes me when I feel my skin grow even warmer.  Viktor’s eyebrows raise when we don’t get a menu set on the table. She fills our cups with cold barley tea and tosses a pocketful of ramune candy on the table.

 

“Wow. “ Viktor says when she is finally out of earshot.

 

“She… um…. Wants to make food that will make you fall in love with  Japan.” I stutter. Viktor still smiles. He looks encouraging no matter how stupid I sound.

 

“ _ Yuuri, how foreign is he? Is fish okay?” _ Obacchan calls across the restaurant.  I choke on my tea.

  
  


“Um… how much of a picky eater are you?”

 

“Oh! Well, I don’t like it when Pigs Blood is chunky, but the flavor was pretty good!  Come to think of it, I’m not so sure… I’ve liked a lot of what I’ve tried in Asia…” Viktor chirps.

 

“ _ Um… He likes Chinese food. I think anything is okay.” _ I call back, tearing the paper napkin on the table apart in my hands.

 

“ _ Chinese chinese food or American?” _ Obacchan calls warily from the kitchen.

 

_ “Um… real Chinese?” _  I answer.  Viktor looks amused, but still blissfully ignorant.

 

“I should learn Japanese, shouldn’t I?” He runs a finger around the lip of his tea glass. The brown glass is already sweating, even though it’s not that hot in Detroit.

 

“Oh… sorry…”  I forgot how it was to speak a language that isn’t understood by everyone in the room. Phichit doesn’t speak much Japanese--- he knows how to swear and describe his hamsters--- but he never commented  on not understanding dinner time talk before.

 

“Don’t be. “ Viktor slides his hand across the table, cupping it around mine. “I…. I really like hearing you talk in Japanese.”

 

I’m so warm that I can feel steam coming off my skin.  “O-- okay! Thanks! I--- Be right back!”

 

I jump up, running to the bathroom, managing to nearly knock my chair over in the process. The bathroom is tiny, and smells powerfully floral, but its away from Viktor and Obacchan.

 

I splash my face with cold water, turning on the fan in the bathroom. The light is dim and yellow, and when I catch my face in the mirror I’m back to wondering what I did to get Viktor.

 

I’m plain looking. I can’t fight-- humans or a pack of wolves out to make me dinner. I have a baby face, and I keep messing up  in international competitions. I don’t compare to Viktor.

 

But he’s still here. He’s done more than enough to make up for feeling guilty over something he did as a wolf.  He’s doing more, if Phichits constant teasing says anything.

 

He’s too patient with me.  He smiles when I go back to the table, which already has a plate of pickles and a tray of croquettes  next to a bowl of agedashi tofu. There is no way we will be able to eat everything if this is what counts as appetizers.  Then Obacchan appears with a bowl of hijiki salad.

 

“This boy…”  She pats the back of my head, talking before I’ve had a chance to apologize to Viktor. “ He’s the best skater in Japan.”

 

“Oh, I know.” Viktor grins, and I feel like I am going to die again. “Japan’s Ace, right?”

 

She seems to be pleased.  “We are saving money to go to the Tokyo Olympics. You can get us tickets, _ ne Yuuri?” _ She nudges me playfully on the shoulder. I am definitely going to die.

 

“I’ll try…” I pick up the chopsticks. Viktor has a set of cutlery next to his, but he ignores it.

 

“Ah!  _ Vkusno!” _ He sings at the first bite. His smile is bright and heart-shaped. He’s not pretending in the slightest bit.  My stomach untwists a bit, and I feel a pleasant buzz at the idea.

 

“ _ Not American?”  _  Obacchan is intrigued.

 

_ “He’s Russian. _ ”  I can’t help but smile. Yuuko had teased me about finding an American girlfriend when I left to study. I wonder how she would react if she knew  I was dating  _ the Viktor Nikiforov. _

 

Viktor tries every dish that is put in front of him. We get a bowl of chirashizushi and katsudon on top of the bento set and  I feel terrible when we can’t finish it. It all gets packed into takeaway boxes, along with a second bag.

 

“For Phichit.” Obacchan pats my hand. “And you. Too thin.” She pinches my arm, clucking her tongue disapprovingly.

 

“I’ll get the check?” Viktor asks when the bags of food are  delivered to our cleared off table.

 

“No charge.” The waitress says firmly.

 

“Donation?” Viktor retorts, pulling out his wallet. I pull out mine-- together we manage to pull out fifty dollars. Probably less than  half of the cost of the food. Obacchan refuses to take it at the till, and Viktor just smiles, rolling the cash and tucking it under the paw of the manekineko sitting next to the register.


	40. Phichit- Pyrotherapy

Phichit  
67 F 19 C

I have to figure it out.

The idea has been bugging me for months-- ever since Yuuri, in his dumb fevered brain, brought it up. I mean it makes sense, doesn’t it? I’ve seen Viktor change into a wolf with my own two eyes. It isn’t fantasy. The body doesn’t just do things for fun. I know it is transferred by bite-- saliva is a vector-- but there’s something that kept Yuuri from changing.

And that something is what can keep Viktor here.

Which I honestly, really need. Yuuri and Viktor have been inseparable over the summer, fitting together like two puzzle pieces. I saw how Yuuri was last year, and I don’t want to know how bad it will get after this summer.

“What’s wrong Phichit?” Dr. Funke spoke, knocking me out of my internal monologue. “Your clinic hours ended a while ago.”

“I’m… just trying to figure out something,” I use my best student smile. The college clinic is small enough that doing extra work is discouraged because we are just pre-med students. Extra bodies get in the way.

“Could I help?” Dr. Funke wears her grey hair in a bun. She’s the kind of doctor I want to be-- kind, but taking no bullshit.

“Uh… well… “ I panic, but years under Ciao Ciao’s tutelage has got me good at excuses. “There’s this case study I can’t figure out. Symptoms present in an individual, and they.. Um, are highly sensitive to temperature. But someone with the same...exposure… does not have the same sensitivity. The only difference is that the second patient had a fever when exposed...to...the virus.”

Thank god, Dr. Funke looks thoughtful instead of skeptical. 

“Well, Phichit. Before Penicillin, syphilis was treated by inducing malaria in the patient.”

I choke. She laughs, but she continues.

“It was called pyrotherapy. The fever destroyed the syphilis, and the malaria was treated more easily. It’s old medicine, but it proves a point. High fevers, while problematic, can serve a purpose. Perhaps the exposure in the case study was a virus that could not survive a high grade fever.”

“Oh,” My voice comes out in a squeak. “So… you can cure things by inducing a fever?”

“Giving someone malaria is now considered malpractice, but yes,” Funke chuckles. “Go home, Phichit. You can burn out in Med school.

I race home. It’s only seven, but Yuuri is already asleep in Viktor’s lap. He cradles Yuuri tenderly, playing with his hair.

The excitement that motivated me run the entire way across campus dissipates immediately.

“Is he….?” Viktor nods softly, not lifting his eyes from Yuuri. I get angry. Real angry, real quick.

He has another fever-- right on schedule, two to three weeks after recovering from the last one. He still isn’t contagious-- Viktor looks perfectly fine, even though he lives in even closer quarters with Yuuri than I do. Neither of us has ever developed a fever after Yuuri. It would be so easy-- so simple-- and it doesn’t work.

“I have a hypothesis.” I sit down on the coffee table. Thankfully, Yuuri’s glasses are folded and hooked onto Viktor’s shirt, and not crushed under my butt.

“I’m listening,” Viktor continues stroking Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri is drooling a little, his cheeks red and forehead glistening with a soft sheen of sweat. He’s still in his practice sweats, so whatever symptoms he had weren’t enough for Ciao Ciao to stop him from going on the ice.

“Yuuri didn’t change because of a fever. The fever stopped him from changing. It… It's keeping him from changing. So. We give you a fever.”

“I’ve seen Liam with a cold before. I wish it was that easy.” Viktor already sounds resigned to it, like he is okay with having two weeks left with the man he can’t keep his hands off of.

“I’m not talking colds. I’m talking… major fevers. Malaria level.”

Viktor’s eyes widen slightly. “Was Yuuri that bad?”

“I don’t remember, we were all more worried about the bites and potential rabies. BUT I do remember that it was high, and he sustained it for a long time. He stayed in the hospital for a week.”

“Where are we going to get malaria? Even if I had the money to fly, the chances--”

“There are more things that cause fevers.” I cut Viktor off. “Come on, we live in a college. It’s a cesspool of germs. You could just lick the floor of the clini---”

Oh my god.

My educational hell will be my best friends saving grace.

“Something wrong?” Viktor asks, and I want to smack him.

“Meningitis!”

His nose wrinkles. He doesn’t understand, but I don’t care. “Meningitis is common in college, and I know we have a couple cases from people who didn’t get vaccinated.”

“Okay. So I lick these people?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous. We should have their test cultures, blood draws.. I just have to make sure… I’m pretty sure if it's bacterial it’s way more deadly.”

“I don’t care.” Viktor says with such conviction that I’m knocked out of my train of thought completely. “I want to be with Yuuri. I can’t leave him.”

“Did you hear… deadly?” I throw up my hands. He can be just as dense as Yuuri, I swear. His only saving grace is that they somehow communicated and are finally acknowledging the sexual tension that has been stinking up the apartment for months.

“If it’s meant to be, I’ll survive. If I don’t…. Then I won’t be making Yuuri wait for me year after year.”

“Do you realize how selfish you sound?” I prickle. “He loves you. Way too much. If you die, I will go after you myself and drag you out of hell,” 

“I’m so honored you think me so pure,” Viktor drawls flatly

“Oh please. This is America, everyone thinks the gays are going to hell,”

“He’s joking,” Yuuri mumbles sleepily from Viktor’s chest. It’s not clear who he is talking about, but I smile, taking the victory anyway. Yuuri stretches into Viktor, snuggling against him. He looks a little worried, but I haven’t spent years living with my best friend for nothing. I know Yuuri has only heard the unimportant part of the conversation. Yuuri sleeps like the dead, and it takes a while for his brain to turn back on.

“I’m not. Remember Sharon?” I force a smile onto my face.

“You call every white soccer mom Sharon.” Yuuri mumbles. Viktor flushes hopelessly when a certain part of Yuuri rubs against him as he stretches. 

Note to self: make Yuuri incredibly drunk so Viktor will stop freaking out over Low Key Yuuri. High Key Yuuri is the one who shows you why he was the top student in pole dance class. High Key Yuuri doesn’t like wearing clothes or behaving. He also is only motivated by Viktor Nikiforov and food when he is drunk. Detroit police handcuffs do not share the same power over my bestie as a crunchwrap supreme.

“Yeah, maybe it was more of a Karen,” I laugh. It was one thing when the missionaries came to our apartment. Yuuri was nice, nodding and listening, sitting three feet from his altar. He offered them tea, and they left him a bible he never touched. But then they came to campus after the Big Game (I don’t remember what sport it was for. All I know is that drinks were cheap, parties were wild, and Yuuri was drunk.) and Yuuri went off at the poor Korean church girls in Red Square. While stripping, and climbing on top of the big statue of some important white guy.

“What about her?” Yuuri says, rubbing his face, looking like an absolute angel. Viktor must think Yuuri is the most demure and soft wolf attack victim out there.

But one thing I know, that Viktor doesn’t, is that Yuuri is stubborn to a fault.

“Viktor wants to use Karen’s blood sample to get meningitis.” I regret being this catty the instant I say it. Fear flashes across Yuuri’s face.

“Why?” His voice is so soft and unsure. It makes me want to hug him.

“Phichit,” Viktor growls at me. “It was your idea.”

“Yeah, but,” I stutter. “That was before I realized you were going to do it even if you died! That’s a little extreme, isn’t it? I don’t even have a solid hypothesis!” I can feel that I’m going a little shrill, but if there’s anyone Viktor will listen to, it’s Yuuri. 

“Oh, oh god… Yuuri, please.. I don’t know what to do when people cry…”

I expect Yuuri to say something--- something stupid and self-deprecating, anything.. But instead, he just lays limply against Viktor, soaking his shirt with fat tears streaking down his cheeks.

“Stay. Please,” Yuuri chokes out. Viktor looks… shaken at best.

“I will. I promise.”

Viktor’s eyes meet mine, and there’s no mistaking it.

He’s decided to stay, but it isn’t on my terms.


	41. Viktor

**Viktor**

 

**50F 10 C**

 

Ultimately, there is no keeping secrets from Yuuri when there is Phichit involved.

  
  


It takes a few weeks until Phichit confirms another meningitis case in the clinic. It’s long enough that I can feel fall looming, and I spend my days praying for someone to get sick.

 

I’d rather die than see Yuuri’s face as I disappear again. I’d die to keep him smiling a minute longer. It’s stupid and dramatic, but our one summer together has been better than any in the past decade of my life. Maybe longer. 

It’s not even Yuuri that makes me want to risk it. It’s the life I tasted, the one I hunger for daily. I don’t want to lose it. I want to read, feel the sun on my skin and the whisper of Yuuri’s touch on my shoulder. I want my heart to flutter with romance, and not with the adrenaline of a kill.

 

It’s after hours in the clinic. The entire stock of ice packs sit on the paper-covered patient bed. Everything looks like it belongs in the 70s. Phichit is convinced that I need to change-- even temporarily-- so that there is enough of whatever makes me a wolf in my system.

 

“I don’t want you to do this,” Yuuri says again, his arms curled around himself as he stands by the door. We are working in the dark-- this is not sanctioned action, after all. 

 

I bite my tongue. I can’t apologize for something I’m not sorry for. Phichit straps an ice pack to my leg with self-adhesive gauze. Plan B is an epi-pen full of adrenaline next to the vial of tainted blood.

My stomach clenches with nausea. It’s close, but not enough. My bones don’t creak and twist. They just shudder under my skin, stretching with nowhere to go.

Phichit has told me, many times before, that he is doing this under duress.  One night he outright refused me. But it only took a call to Liam and a bank transfer before I showed Phichit that I could do it without him.

 

I really didn’t want to. There’s no guarantee, after all.   I could die from infection, and I don’t my figurative blood on his hands.  But breaking rules at his internship is safer than trusting the black market. I trust him.

Phichit waits, like he promises, before stabbing me in the thigh with the epi-pen. I feel even more sick before I don’t feel anything at all.

 


	42. Phichit- Terrible friend

Phichit  
46 F 8C

I’m an awful friend.

I know Yuuri doesn't want this. He tells us every few minutes, and we ignore him. He cries when Viktor crumples into his other body. He clings to Viktor, even as he scrambles to the door, for an escape.  
If Yuuri asks, I won’t tell him. I won’t let him know that his clinging is what ultimately helps me get the blood sample injected into Viktor’s ruff. I won’t tell Viktor that the scar he will see on Yuuri’s cheek is from him, from a struggle that ultimately ended in me opening the glass door to the parking lot and watching Viktor slink out.

Yuuri is a wreck. He moves like a ghost until he doesn’t. When he gets back to the apartment he collapses into the bed without even taking off his coat. He doesn’t leave his bed, take off his shoes, or do anything. I let him be for twelve hours before I pull off his shoes and leave a glass of water on his bedside table.

I’m a terrible friend.

He goes to class the next afternoon, but only because he only has so many accommodations for classes, and he hates wasting them even when he is truly sick. He tried to act like he didn’t mind adding another year to his studies when he failed winter quarter, but I know he hated it. 

My expertise on the care and keeping of a Yuuri is hard earned. I know when to touch him and when to give him space. He can be really fickle — insanely cuddly when he wants casual touch, but prickly when he’s panicked.   
I plug in my freshly repaired laptop into our TV and cue up two hours of funny animal videos on YouTube. Normally I would mix in some of Viktors old skates, but that whole deal is off the table. I pull out our emergency curry from the back cabinet. If touch won’t do, then food is always a comfort. On a scale from a square of chocolate to a Taco Bell 20 pack, Viktor and I’s betrayal is around Taco Bell 20-pack on a large pizza. 

The only way I can make this up to Yuuri is to work a miracle with the universe and pull Viktor out of the woods safe and healthy.

He’s too nice to refuse the curry when he gets home from class. He holds the bowl in his hands, and I can see a film form on top of the roux as it cools without being touched.

The only movement he makes is when he smacks my hand away when the youtube mix stupidly goes onto a video of wolf puppies. They’re adorable, but wolf means Viktor, and no news is not good news.  
Yuuri rests his hands on the trackpad of my laptop, unable to tear his eyes away from the tiny wolves. 

His forehead gets the little crease in it that only shows up after a nasty fall or during a bad hangover. I can’t read his expression, partially because he looks so...far away. Like he wants to be with Viktor, wherever he is. 

I pushed his boyfriend away into the woods.  
I made his idol dissapear.  
I can’t even comfort him anymore. 

I’m a terrible friend.


	43. Yuuri

Yuuri  
46 F 8C

It hurts.

The ache is more than anything I’ve ever felt before.

I don’t know if its the keen sense of missing Viktor

Or missing something I’ve never been a part of.

But when I hear the soft whimpers of wolf pups, I understand.

And it scares me.


	44. Viktor- Don't forget me

 

**Viktor**

**46 F 8C**

It hurts.

 

My head pounds, and my neck is too stiff to bear it. My body shakes with constant change. 

 

My stomach rolls with nausea,  but there’s nothing left to empty into the mulchy ground. 

I lose sense of where I am. Who I am.

 

By the second day, I feel like it is the end. I can only gather enough thoughts to feel stupid.

 

Yuuri.

 

Please don’t forget me.


	45. Phichit- Penny for your thoughts

Phichit  
43 F 6C  
This isn’t the first time Yuuri’s fallen into a depression, and thanks to me, it probably won’t be the last. 

He spends another two days in bed before he finally goes to practice with me. Ciao Ciao notices Yuuri’s mood right away and looks right at me. I shrug, because...what else can I do? Tell him that Yuuri is sad because his boyfriend, missing celebrity Viktor Nikiforov, turned into a wolf and is missing and possibly dead from meningitis? That I, Phichit Chulanont, Yuuri Katsuki’s best friend and social media manager, gave him?

Ciao Ciao doesn’t push, though. He learned that the hard way after dealing with Yuuri and The Big Panic during Nationals the first year we trained together. He sends Yuuri to practice his step sequences, knowing that it is the component he loves the most and succeeds at.

Yuuri picks at the hello kitty bandaid I put on his cheek during lunch. I ordered Bahn-mi on Postmates, earning a half-smile from Yuuri. He gives me all of the jalapenos on his sandwich, and we share a taro bubble tea without a single word.

“A penny for your thoughts,” I say, flicking a stray pickled carrot at him. It lands on his shoulder, and his nose wrinkles as he brushes it off.

“That doesn’t make any sense. I see pennies on the ground all the time. Don’t americans think talking is worth more than that?”

I laugh, though I’m not sure if I should or not. “Okay. Tell me what you’re thinking about, or I’m going to post that shot of you on red square--”

“If Viktor dies, it’s all my fault.”

Yuuri isn’t looking at me-- he’s looking at his sandwich with a faraway look, picking at the baguette crust. I didn’t know words could do it, but I feel like all the air is crushed out of my lungs.

“No way.” Is all I can manage. “Yuuri, he chose to do that--”

Yuuri hand starts tapping nervously on the formica table in the common room of the rink. “I told him I didn’t want him to leave again. I shouldn’t have said anything. He wouldn’t have done it,”  
His voice cracks at the last word, but he isn’t crying. Yet.

“Yuuri,” I say, exasperated. I stand up, smacking my palms on the table. “He didn’t think about you! I promise! If it's anything, it’s my fault! I gave it to him! I told him that it was risky, and that it would wreck you if it didn’t work out-- but he didn’t listen!”

“You’re training to be a doctor, it’s not your fault for trying to fix people,” Yuuri says with a wry smile. It looks so… wrong… on his sweet little face. It makes me a little nauseous.

“So what if it's your fault? It happened! We can’t do anything about it, and blaming anyone isn’t going to change or help it!” I say it too sharply, and Yuuri flinches. I sink back in my chair, regretting it immediately.

“Yuuri…” He has the faraway look, going into himself and shutting the world out. “Please. It’s not your fault.”

“If I had turned… like I was supposed to… none of this would have happened.” He crumples the paper around his banh mi, half of it still left.

“Yeah, you’d be gone for half the year! What about me? Your family? Skating?” The words boil up in me before I can help it.

He presses his hands to his face, pressing his fingers into his eyes. His glasses are pushed up onto his forehead crookedly.

“Stop it! Why can’t I be sad? Why can’t I want it a different way? I don’t want to be alone! I don’t want to have to choose!” Yuuri sniffles wetly, and I know the dam has broken. He drops his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks.

I offer him a napkin. There’s nothing else to say.


	46. Phichit

Phichit   
42F 6C  
The gash on Yuuri’s cheek is freshly healed and pink when Viktor creeps back into the apartment a week and a half later.

I know he notices it right away, because he doesn't touch Yuuri right away. Viktor lets him sleep, pale and thin and sickly and sitting naked next to Yuuri.

“You need to eat.” I offer him the Taco Bell I bought for Yuuri but he refused. Viktors heels are dark with dirt, and his arms are covered with red scratches.

“How mad is he?” Viktor says instead, unable to tear his eyes from Yuuri.

“Zero percent. “ I can answer honestly. “He was...worried. Sad.”

Viktor just stares at him.

“Look. We’re all adults. He knew it wasn’t his decision. He was just scared. I was too.” I sigh. “Please… take a shower.. Get dressed. One of you should be taking care of yourself.”


	47. Viktor

Viktor  
68 F 20C

It’s the best shower in my life. The water is hot, and I feel cleaner even just standing under the stream of water. I use Yuuri’s shampoo, and the scent hanging in the steam surrounds me with it. It relaxes me.

Enough that when Yuuri pulls aside the shower curtain, I don’t jump.

His eyes are blank, dark, before they spark alive. They immediately fill with tears, and before I know it, he’s in the shower with me. His socks soak up the water, and his hair wilts with spray, his arms hugging the air out of me. The rain of water muffles his sobs, but not enough to avoid the sound to take my heart and wrench it. I kiss him, because that's the only thing I can think to do. He stands on his tip toes, all shyness gone. I can feel his lips curve into a smile against my mouth.

“I love you,” I say, not to comfort him, but because I need to say it. It should be obvious, but I know too well that you can’t guarantee anything that isn't spoken.  
Yuuri lets out a heartbreaking sob and squeezes me even tighter.   
“Is that the first time I’ve said that ?”  
He nods before turning to press his cheek into my chest. “You only come back when I’m asleep,” he murmured pitifully. I want to hug him again. He takes a shaky breath  
“I, um, love you too…” he stares somewhere below my shoulders but above my waist. He’s starting to turn red, like he just realized that he jumped into a shower with me. 

“I know,” I touch his cheek and he laughs, a little snort. Yuuri's eyes close whenever he smiles naturally. I wonder which parent he got that from, or if it’s something purely Yuuri. He is so easy to read, even on the ice. We haven’t been to the rink together in the months I’ve stayed in Detroit. Even in the summer heat, I was nervous about the temperature difference. Even lining my jacket with hot hands chemical warmers can’t stave off the shock of a temperature drop. But I’ve watched every skate of his on YouTube — competition and every single shot on Phichit’s Instagram story. It was a good two hours of content, and I watched it over and over waiting for Yuuri to get out of class. 

Yuuri doesn’t say anything, letting the water splash over us, his heart beating through his pulse.”You should change first. People typically don’t shower in their clothes .” 

His pajamas are clinging to him, a soft T-shirt from lake placid and soft flannel pants. I don’t think Yuuri has anything in his closet over 40$, but I still dream of taking him to an Armani store or somewhere that would dress his body in something worthy of it. 

 

“You’re back.” He answers instead, closing his eyes.   
“I sure am.” I don’t want to push him out , but Phichit just did tell me that he’s fevered again, and I honestly don’t know how being wet will help that. 

“I was worried you would die,” his voice wavers a bit. He’s trembling. “I wanted to make sure you were alive,” he finally pulls back and I feel a sudden sense of loss. 

“No,” I swallow. “I’m here for good.”

He smiles, his bangs plastered to his forehead, water dripping and collecting on his eyelashes. I’m entranced by his face and the sweetness of it, before he moves. He’s swaying on his feet. He’s flushed a little too much, and I catch him before his knees buckle. His whole weight is on my arms and pushed into my chest and it’s a little struggle to get out of the slippery shower and onto the bathroom floor. 

“Phichit? Help?” I call out after pulling a towel off the rack and wrapping it around myself without drying myself off. 

“‘M okay.” Yuuri mumbles, dripping onto the linoleum floor. 

“I got him. Put some damn clothes on. Please.” Phichit pushed open the door, covering his eyes with a hand. 

“I have a towel on,” I say awkwardly

“For Yuuri's eyes only!” Phichit interrupts me, ”Go. Please.” He makes a waving gesture with his hand. 

I’ve caused enough strife with Yuuri, and Phichit technically is more qualified than I am. I go to the bedroom - my clothes in the same place, neatly folded with my wallet set on top. It’s almost as if I was never gone, except the summer clothes show off my transience. I belong to the summer, and here I am, lost in the fall. 

I borrow one of Yuuri's sweaters, since he likes them a size too big, so it basically fits me well. It smells like him. I may have lost my wolf skin, but I haven’t let go of my attachment to scent. It is like soap and sandalwood, rich and earthy. 

“Bring me an outfit,” phichit yells from the bathroom, and I pull out another set of clothing. I know the next drawer down is full of his underwear and I stupidly blush like a preteen when I pull out a pair of his boxer briefs. 

Now that I’m here for good… I can allow myself to have all of Yuuri. 

I’ve wanted to be selfish for so long, to devour him beyond a simple kiss and a hand on his heart. But then I see the broken expression when I lost my human skin the first time, and I couldn’t bring myself to hurt him that much. I can suffer — I have a lot of practice. 

Once I’m sure of my human skin, I can believe in my forever. With Yuuri.


	48. Yuuri

Yuuri  
68F 20 C

Viktor hovers. Normally I’d hate it, but I’m too warm and my headache feels like my head is split in half, and if I move too fast my thoughts will leak out. Phichit helped me get into a dry set of pajamas, promising me that he’d never talk about it again. (which is why we are best friends.) I made it to the couch before Viktor moved to put a cold cloth against my forehead, smiling when all I could manage was a soft moan. 

“There, solnyshko.” His fingers play through my hair, and if I had my normal brain, I would worry about how messy it is and that it needs to be washed. Instead, I just think about how nice it feels. Viktors hands are always cold. If I ever saw him in the winter, I bet his fingertips would turn a bright red, like Yuuko's did the few times Hasetsu got enough snow when I was younger. Instead, they’re just an extra shock when his hands thread up my shirt when we kiss, or a relief when another fever relentlessly takes over. 

“When you get better, we’re going on a date,” he hums, his voice low and thick and hands playing with my hair. I close my eyes, trying to focus on his voice, but the repetition is soothing and it smooths out the pain in my skull. 

I start to doze off, but I catch his hand before he pulls completely away. He holds it in his, kissing my knuckles and laughing when I sigh contentedly. 

“Date?” I manage, though my mouth feels like sandpaper. The hot water did not help me, but I don’t regret it at all. 

“Mhmm. I’ll get us a car. I’ll bring you to a nice dinner. We’ll go shopping, and I’ll get you anything you want.”

“Ice cream,” I really want a gari gari kun popsicle from home, but the likelihood that it exists anywhere in Michigan is slim. Besides, it wouldn’t taste the same as it did sitting on the step of the store and eating it next to Mari. 

“I’ll get us ice cream,” Viktor goes back to playing with my hair, even though it’s still damp. “ I’ve always wanted to try.. American sundaes. There’s one called banana split. It’s never been on my diet plan.” He muses. 

“I qualified… for the Grand Prix…” I force my eyes open, just to see his expression. His blue eyes are wide, but I can’t quite read what he’s thinking. “I think…I’ll drop out .”

“No. It’s about time you go. I’ll go and watch you in the Final.” Viktor looks dead serious… even more so than when he told Phichit that he found a way to get meningitis without him.

“But… you… you’ve been missing.. For almost four years…” I sit up, immediately regretting it, the head rush sending stars in my vision.

“And… now I’m here for good.” Viktor smiles, cupping my face in his hands. “I think I can afford a comeback. Thanks to you and Phichit.”

I try to bite the tears back, but I can feel my lips tremble and my vision blur. Viktor pushes up my glasses, wiping away the tears that slip out with his thumbs before he leans forward and kisses them away. My heart stutters, my blood roaring in my ears.


	49. Viktor

Viktor  
68F 20 C  
Yuuri is always full of surprises. 

He looks a little dizzy, and I expect him to faint again. Instead, his hands push back my hair, cupping my face, and he moves my face to his. He kisses me back, like he’s hungry for a taste of me. Our life together has been a long string of awkward pecks and hand-holding and wanting more. Yuuri’s touch feels almost obscene, I feel my jaw dropping open. He takes the chance, his teeth scraping my bottom lip. He pulls back, pulling on my lip, before he stares, like a deer in the headlights, the reality of the moment crashing into him. 

He hides his face in my shoulder with a pitiful squeak, and God, I have never been more in love.

“How long until the season starts?”

“Five weeks…” Yuuri tenses up slightly, mostly in the shoulders. “I have Skate Canada, then the next week is the NHK Trophy…”

“Pretty packed schedule… but it’s still early enough to book decent tickets,” I hummed. Yuuri leans back, looking stunned.

“You’re not going to just… show up are you?” His voice is soft and unsure. 

He’s right. There’s Yakov, Yuri… my mother and father, no matter how much I like to pretend they don’t exist. I left without a word, and now I’m back, and the words I do have are nonsensical. 

I can picture it now. Yes, Yakov. I lived as a wolf. No, I wasn’t attacked-- an old American approached me in a bar.

No, I didn’t believe him at first.

No, I can’t show you. I fell in love with my dinner, and he cured me. Well, his friend did. 

I did it against his wishes. Like I always do.

I don’t know what I’m more nervous about-- telling Yakov my biggest secret, or the risk of killing him when I tell the truth. Emotionally and physically--- I can imagine his blood pressure spiking before I even get to Yuuri in my story.

Showing up would be easier.   
But this is also Yuuri’s event, and like it or not, I know who I am. Who I was. Showing up as ice skatings biggest star and mystery, alive and well… it would eclipse anything else going on at the competition. It wouldn’t be fair to Yuuri, to his competitors… even if they are all strangers to me.

I sigh, because nothing about this would be easy. “I… I’ll call him. I promise.”


	50. Yuuri

**Viktor**

**68F 20 C**

It takes two days for Yuuri’s fever to break, and we spend most of them tangled up on the couch.  I’ve known him more fevered than healthy, and I can tell it is starting to wear on him. The cold medicine and campus clinic receipts have been replaced by Costco-sized fever reducers and ibuprofen.  When his headache gets to be too much, we stop watching movies and lay in the dark together. He dozes with his cheek pressed against my chest. I can still remember the meningitis splitting my head apart, and the pain that had me twisting in the dirt and mulch.

 

I can’t imagine going through it every few weeks like clockwork.

 

But on the third day, he stumbles out of my reach and stomps into the shower.  He must have forgotten an outfit, because after the water stops, he blesses me with a quick sight of his bare backside.

 

“Oh.” He stops, his hair sticking up at all angles, towel-dried and not quite yet brushed.

 

“Yuuri?” I ask, for no other reason than I want to say his name.

 

I hear the soft pat of something dripping to the floor as I watch Yuuri, backlit by the late morning sun, turned into silhouette lean forward, his graceful hand lifting to his nose.

 

“Damn, Yuuri, we won’t get the deposit back if you bleed all over the carpet!” Phichit says from the bedroom, and I’m on my feet. My hands lift Yuuri’s chin, and he looks up at me, wide-eyed, crimson red streaming down his nostrils and collecting on his upper lip. It’s smeared on his hand and across his lips like a macabre lipstick.

 

“I’m surrounded by idiots!” Phichit bites out, pushing me away from Yuuri. He pulls Yuuri forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sure, just make him puke up all the blood too, we don’t need the money back or anything!”

 

“Why is he bleeding?” I feel the panic burn at the edges of my words. Yuuri starts to shiver-- I’ve already forgotten he’s naked and damp and--why is he bleeding?

 

“Dry air? Trauma?” Phichit shrugs. “Get a tissue, will you? You’re such a biohazard, Yuuri.”  I grab some from the box on the coffee table and had the wad to Phichit. It takes a while, but, eventually, his nose is dry when Phichit pulls back to check it.

 

“Yuuri… maybe we should rest a bit more,” I say when he comes out, dressed in a thick off-white sweater and dark jeans. I had promised him a date, but I’m not sure we should do it anymore.

 

“I’m tired,” He says, his eyes cast downward, heavy-lidded.

 

“All the better--”

 

“I can’t stand being in here anymore. If I’m going to feel bad, I’d rather do it outside.”

 

“Yuuri, I think--” I reach out to take his hand in mine.

 

His jaw stiffens, and he pulls his phone off of the charger.  “You don’t have to,”

 

He can be stubborn, but there’s no way I’m letting him out of my sight. Not when something in me screams  _ wrong. _

 

He doesn’t smell like sandalwood and warmth. Not even like my hair oil.

 

Something, faint but present, smells sweet. The soft musk and sweet almond of  _ wolf _ .

 

 

 

 

 

  
  


End of Part  One

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please subscribe for updates. Chapters will be erratic because of the formatting of POV/story breaks. I will be honest that I am a sucker for reactions, and that I will post more chapters the more comments I get. 
> 
> Part 1 is 100% done, and part 2 is about 60% written.


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